


The Flub

by RurouniHime



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Best Friends, Character Bleed, Coming Out, Cooking, Dog(s), Falling In Love, First Date, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstanding, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Romance, Sharing a Bed, Sharing a House, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-27
Updated: 2011-07-26
Packaged: 2017-10-21 19:35:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 34,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/228962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RurouniHime/pseuds/RurouniHime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen flubs a line. Misha takes advantage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A little bit AU. I started writing this before episode 5.18, Point of No Return, so there are spoilers for the show up until that point. Also, in my fic the Supernatural show’s storyline diverges here and does not take into account any of the episodes after 5.17. Pretend Jensen and Jared are living together again. It should also be noted that Genevieve and Danneel wanted nothing to do with this foolishness, and therefore did not show up for any scenes. I don’t blame them. Minor spoilers for S1 of True Blood, and one tiny spoiler for Leverage, episode 2.4. Also, the swearing starts in the first sentence. That should give you a feel for the rest of the fic. ^___^ Song lyrics included from “Undone” by Weezer, “I’d Do Anything for Love (But I Won’t do That)” by Meatloaf, and “Sunshine of Your Love” by Cream. There, I think that's everything!

It all starts with one fucking mistake. Well. One fucking mistake in front of Misha Collins.

Jensen got enough sleep and ate a hearty breakfast, the first one in a week because a post-flu stomach doesn’t like bacon, who would have thought? He also woke up on his own (no alarm clock included), there was hot water during the shower, and for once, the sun doesn’t have icicles hanging from it. It’s a miracle! He had coffee and sugar in his regular quotas, said hi to everyone, and basically had a slam-bang of an excellent morning.

The scene is Dean chatting with Cas, like they do, getting at the meat of the apocalypse now, and how for ages Dean has said he wants to die, yet he hasn’t really gotten around to _doing_ it, the hypocrite, can’t he just admit that fighting for Bobby’s life and Sam’s freedom and the survival of not-so-innocents is simply a roundabout way of fighting for his own soul?

It’s a “Where’s the end of your rope, Dean, where is it really?” from Castiel, and a “Sam’s the end of the line. If he goes… I don’t want to stay.” Appropriate pause and all.

Except Misha’s there, so of course Jensen is fucked before he can appreciate the fact. Castiel nods gravely and says, “Yes. I, too, would burn my journal and pine along with Meatloaf if Jared went away.”

And Jensen has to take a second before he realizes that it wasn’t Sam’s name he said.

Jared lets out something damn near a cackle there on the sidelines, Eric tumbles over at the waist in his chair, everyone’s laughing, the damn cameras are shaking up and down, and Jensen wants to kick all of them up the asses. Simultaneously.

Jared tears over and wraps him up in a burrito of a hug, sobbing loudly into his shoulder, “I’ll never let go, Jen, oh God, I wish I knew how to quit you!”

From that moment on, Jensen is fodder for the masses. The masses, of course, being Sera Gamble and Jim Beaver and Josie the grip and Mick who edits sound and Harlon over at catering and fucking hell, was _everyone_ getting paid to stand around and watch that scene? For fuck’s sake.

It’s not even funny when Jeff Morgan calls that night to ask how long Dean’s been in love with his brother and whether he should get them therapy.

Jensen’s going to kill Jared. For real this time.

**

The joke has a longer half-life than most radioactive elements, it seems.

Jared starts flubbing every fifth line, proclaiming Sam’s desire to do everything from getting a beer to committing ritual suicide with ‘Jensen’. When Eric orders him to knock it off (still laughing, mind you, because Jared is the freaking fairy of glee and no one is immune), Jared takes to constantly announcing that he has not left, tell Jensen not to worry, he’s still here, he’s only gone to the bathroom or to grab a sandwich or to discuss how best not to be out of Jensen’s line of sight for the rest of the day with McG, and as if that weren’t enough, _someone_ — Jensen’s not naming any names— took his script, whited out every use of the name ‘Sam’ and replaced it with ‘Jared’.

Jensen doesn’t even have a moment to sit down this week. He has no idea where Jared is finding the time to be such an effective bastard.

Misha is no help. What _is_ the point of that man, anyway?

**

Not “Sam, you wanna get a beer?”

Not “Just shoot her damn brains out, Sam!”

Oh, no. Because that would be too easy, too kind to Jensen Ross Ackles.

**

Not even “Hey Sam.”

The universe is definitely laughing at him.

**

And then of course, he’s got to live with Jared for the next bajillion and one months.

He’s got to live with the helpful notes telling him where Jared is at all times ( _Hey Jen, just stepped out to get the paper_ and _Hey Jen, gonna be in the john for the next two minutes taking a leak_ and _Hey Jen, standing right behind you_ ) and he’s got to live with ‘I’d Do Anything For Love’ as his new ringtone (he is never ever allowing Misha or Jared within twenty yards of his cell phone ever again) and he’s got to live with Jared’s big fat annoying face whenever Dean experiences another heartfelt hemorrhaging of his soul, which is, oh yeah, _always_.

It’s the matching cowboy hats that really kill him. They absolutely kill him. _Har dee har har, Jared, I’m not wearing that, don’t give me that look._

Why is it that even now, even fucking now, he can’t resist Jared’s sad eyes?

**

“So, Jensen—”

“Shut up.”

“—I was thinking that we—”

“Shut _up_.”

“—should maybe exchange emergency numbers again—”

“Shut the hell up!”

“—just in case.”

It feels really, really good to flip Jared off with both hands, in three different ways.

**

Which is why Jensen has sunk so low as to be hanging out with Misha at the bar instead of Jared. Not because he flipped Jared off. Dude, they’re not children. And not because he ran out of the house with Jared’s car keys and drove away before Jared could get a better grip on the back bumper. It’s mostly because Jensen put his own car keys in the bin that holds Sadie and Harley’s poop and even if Jared did figure that out, Jensen’s betting he won’t like the idea of dumpster diving for them. So he’ll never drive his own car again. It’s alright; he’s planning on keeping Jared’s car for the rest of his life anyway.

Misha’s got Jensen-radar, because Jensen didn’t tell anyone he was coming here, that’s for damn sure. Misha’s probably a Dalek anyway, able to find hapless innocents with a snap of his… Well, wait, he’s got fingers. Fuck it. It’s all a ruse, anyway.

“Dude.” Jensen gestures at Misha and slops beer all over his own arm. “Where’s your plunger?”

“Under my left love handle,” Misha answers mournfully. “Where I always put it.”

“Dude.” There are so many ways that that is just wrong. Jensen will die of old age before he gets through them all.

“It broke the other day, and I was all out of rubber cement.”

Jensen grabs Misha’s shoulder. _“Stop.”_

Misha shrugs. “Alright. Let’s talk about you.”

Fuck fuckity fuck fuck. Jensen’s swearing a whole lot more these days. “Let’s not.”

“Let’s do,” Misha wheedles. He thinks Jensen thinks he’s drunker than he is, but Jensen knows his game. He’s still not fast enough to stop Misha from ruffling his hair.

Misha smiles beatifically at him. “We’re friends, right?”

“Uh.” There’s a trick in here somewhere, he knows there is. “Yes?”

“And you know I trust you with my life.”

Okay, so maybe Misha is a little bit drunker than he thinks that Jensen thinks… he thinks he is. “Okay.”

“And friends don’t leave friends hanging.”

Four, three, two…

“So why didn’t you _tell_ me about your secret love?” Misha whines like a pro, extending syllables every which way and going up and down about two octaves. And he’s so intent, the look on his face is desperate and bewildered and determined all at once, and he’s squeezing the life out of Jensen’s jacket sleeve.

“Collins. Enough.” Jensen glares. His limit was reached long ago, and look, Sam didn’t even have to die. Praise Kripke.

Misha switches masks in an instant, slumping back in his seat, his expression calm and slightly resigned. His hand has untangled itself from Jensen’s apparel and is currently swirling his Heineken, and it’s all a little shocking, how fast everything changes. “Fine. Sorry.”

Jensen tosses back what’s left of his beer. “Little late for that, don’t you think?”

Misha gives him a crumpled ketchup packet in apology.

A few minutes pass, and Jensen manages to figure out what’s going on in the hockey game above the bar. He’d be watching it at home with Jared, except Jared’s a jerk.

“All I’m saying,” Misha says finally, “is that it was awfully Freudian.”

Jensen resists shoving the ketchup packet down Misha’s shirt. “Your mom’s awfully Freudian.”

“See, that’s Freudian, too. And don’t talk about Freud like that.”

Jensen clears his throat. “I do not secretly love Jared.”

“Okay.”

“I do not secretly plan to waste away if Jared ever leaves.”

“Okay.”

Jensen glances at Misha and finds actual, honest-to-goodness agreement. No grin, no raised eyebrows. He doesn’t trust it, but hey, he’ll go on. “And I’m not secretly pining along with Meatloaf.”

“Jensen, come on. I know you’re none of those things.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, ‘cause it’s not a secret anymore.”

Jensen sighs. “You’re a bastard, you know that?”

Misha tilts his head thoughtfully. “No, my folks were married, I’m pretty sure. My eleventh brother, however…”

“Look, dude, just drop it. Okay?” Jensen gets to his feet and zips up his jacket. “I get enough from Jared because of you, I don’t need you on top of it.”

He’s opened himself up for a disgustingly messy jab involving being on top or needing Misha on top, and he knows it. But Misha lets it go. Jensen can feel Misha’s eyes on him all the way out the door.

**

He’s in the middle of brushing beer leftovers off of his teeth and tongue ( _Hey Jen, I haven’t abandoned you, I just switched your toothbrush to the left toothbrush holder because it’s fun. Okay? :)_ ) when he gets an idea.

**

“Dude, give me my keys.”

Jensen smiles. “No chance. I like your car too much.”

Jared frowns with all six feet plus of himself. Somehow. “Come on, man! I have to get in for extra scenes.”

Jensen twirls the keys around his finger and watches as Jared’s eyes follow round and round, like a cat’s. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you there in time.”

Jared straightens up, peering at Jensen in a refreshingly confused manner. “You’re… going to drive me.”

Jensen smacks Jared on the ass and grins his way out the front door. “All the better to keep an eye on you, honey bunch.”

**

But if Jared hates this new turn of events, he’s not making anyone else aware of it. Which wasn’t part of the plan. At least Misha is keeping his distance, or maybe it’s the fact that they don’t have any scenes together this week. Whichever, it’s all gravy to Jensen. He just wishes that Jared wasn’t so good at adapting to new environmental apocalypses, like freak snowstorms or having your friend try to be smarter than you.

Clinging all over someone who is already clinging all over you is not so effective, as it turns out. If Jensen hears one more ‘awww, you guys!’ he will seriously punch a hole through the Impala’s windshield and wedge Jared through it face first.

Offering to feed Jared lunch by hand doesn’t have the same effect when Jared actually takes him up on it.

Shrugging off his jacket and tossing it over Jared’s shoulders between scenes doesn’t really work out when Jared drags Jensen under his arm so they can both wear the coat.

And having a big bouquet of roses sent to Jared right in the middle of watching the dailies isn’t so satisfying when Jared grabs his face and smushes his cheeks together for ‘being so thoughtful in front of everyone, Jen!’

Yeah, Jensen knows how to take a hint. It was a stupid plan anyway.

**

Jensen’s pretty sure he shouldn’t be the one feeling guilty. But Mama raised him right, so here he is, with his current two favorite beings on the planet, due to Jared having a late shoot that showcases how well he can flop over in a graveyard and bleed from the mouth. Or something.

“Now this is a runaway demon,” he instructs. The hellhounds study it attentively, committing it to bouncy, yellow, demonic memory. “Sic it.”

The hellhounds tear after the ball, banging into each other and barking at the tops of their lungs because, god knows, the lone toddler in the playground to the right might actually beat them to the ball and steal it from them. Sadie gets there first and somersaults right over it before jumping on Harley and wrestling it out of his mouth. Harley grabs her tail and the hellhounds return, just like that, Sadie wearing a smashing new slobber hat and Harley with her tail in his mouth.

The demon squeaks plaintively between vicious, vicious teeth.

“Drop it.”

Then there’s a lot of tail wagging and a lot of Jensen trying the find the silver lining in the amount of drool coating his fingers, and then, good god, the demon is _loose_ again, damn it, and off they go.

Meatloaf sings about that thing he won’t do again. “Yeah.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have seen my dogs recently, would you?”

Jensen whistles them back. “Looking at ‘em right now. Drop it!”

“Oh, man, you are a lifesaver, you know that?” Jared sounds beat. There’s a crash and a lot of cursing, and Jensen holds a moment of silence for whichever mug just died an untimely death in their kitchen. “Shit. Thank you. Really, Jensen, _thank_ you.”

“All in a day’s work.” Harley gnaws on the demon with his butt stuck up in the air. Hell is so going to fire him. “What’s for dinner, woman?”

Jared pauses. “So,” he says, “my dogs have reached surrogate status, huh? It’s cute how much you need me.”

Jensen hangs up on him.

**

The thunk is pretty audible. Carpet’s deep, but not that deep, and that doorknob is the heaviest fucking doorknob Jensen’s ever had the pleasure of meeting.

“Jensen.”

Jensen flips a page of the newspaper. “Present.”

“Hey, man. Knob’s off again.”

Jensen cranes back over the couch and eyes the doorknob lying in the middle of the hallway, looking like the latest victim of the French guillotine. “Yep.”

“So?”

Jensen goes back to the paper. Ooh, football tonight. There will have to be popcorn and milk duds. “Sorry, could you speak up? I can barely hear you.”

“You are a fucker. That loud enough?”

Jensen tsks at the most recent travesty of hockey. “What was that? It takes one to know one?”

 _“Jensen…”_ Okay, Jared’s whine has now entered the building. There’s some shuffling from within the bathroom followed by a metallic squeak, and then the inevitable clang and the even more inevitable _“fucking hell!”_

Jensen winces and shakes his head. That’s left a mark in the linoleum, then. One of these days, he’s going to have to bite the bullet and get them the right sized screwdriver to fix those doorknobs. But right now, he’s reading the sports section.

“Jen, _please_ ,” Jared wheedles. “I’m hungry and bored.”

“There’s plenty of food in the fridge.” Good conversational skills are the key to any successful living situation.

“Jeeeeeeennnnnn.”

Jensen rolls his eyes, gets off the couch, retrieves the doorknob, and shoves it back into place. “Come on, push.”

There’s another clink; the knob in Jensen’s hand wiggles a little, then the satisfying snick sounds as male end meets female end, and the door clicks open.

Jared topples out and rolls onto Jensen’s feet. He wraps an arm around Jensen’s leg and rubs his face against his shin like a cat. “Knew you were really a hero.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Heroics aside, Jensen would feel bad leaving him in there. Besides, he’s bored, too.

**

The joke dies an official death at home. Jensen counts himself lucky and goes back to thinking of Jared with that sense of retrospective fondness he enjoys. Jared is terribly clever. Jensen wouldn’t mind possessing that much wiliness himself, but thankfully, he lives with Jared and one day he may just absorb this ability through osmosis.

Which means that, of course, he’s underestimated his housemate. Again.

Jared really needs to not be left to his own devices while other people are trying to make an honest living, because the things that result are just unspeakable. Jensen’s tried telling Sera and Eric this. Kim was the only one who believed him; the problem was that Kim enjoyed Jared’s antics. So, no help there.

The next week at work, Jared actually puts a GPS tracker in Dean’s jacket pocket. Jensen wants to know which of their cars has had its Garmin liberated, but since his keys are still buried in dog doo, he figures Jared knows that sometimes one must make sacrifices for one’s art.

Dean’s coat feels just a little heavy on one side. And because Jared doesn’t have an address or a set of global coordinates while he’s wandering around set, he relays his whereabouts by hollering at the top of his lungs, using the highly technical terminology of “Hotter! Hotter! No, colder, you’re ice cold!”

Apparently, subtlety is no longer an issue.

The plot of the show seems to be moving forward a little, though. Sam’s trying to find Gabriel, and he stole the Impala but left one of the shotguns, most of the salt, and a note telling Dean to JUST SAY NO.

Meanwhile, Dean and Cas are still waiting for Godot. Like they do.

But then Dean is informed that his brother has suffered an appalling death at the claws of Zachariah. The average angel may not have claws, but Zachariah certainly does. Even the fangirls picked up on that. Bobby’s trying to keep Dean from going kamikaze, and Jensen’s calling up every reserve he’s got, thinking about untimely pet deaths and the utter despair that followed his very worst breakup, when Castiel teleports through the ether with Sam in tow, Sam, who wraps Jensen in the tightest hug known to man, yelling, “I’m here, it’s okay, I’m alive!”

There’s a beat, Jared’s eyebrows wiggle, and the whole crew cracks up right there on the spot. Jensen decides it’s time to take matters into his own hands.

**

The best part is that they’ve already given him all the ammo he needs. Eye of the Tiger was a big hit, after all. He waits for the end of his filming day, and Kripke must know that the other scene being filmed across the road will be abandoned just as soon as the music starts, but he sets everything up anyway, and that’s what Jensen loves about Eric. It’s what he misses about Kim.

It takes exactly three seconds for everyone to catch on. Jensen revs up his act like the pro he is; he’s seen Meatloaf’s video a thousand times (and if Jared knew about the torch Jensen had carried for that man, he’d never hear the end of it, so naturally, Jared has no idea), he’s got a cloak from costuming, and the song itself _begs_ for the most outrageous melodrama in existence. Jensen was on Days, he’s got the chops for it. All he needs is Fabio in a mask and Angelina Jolie stretched out on top of the Impala.

He makes do. Reaches for the sky, drags the sorrow out of his soul to the sound of Jared’s wheezing. Jared is, in fact, nearly floating, he’s laughing so hard. Jim’s grin is epic, and everyone is clapping along, clutching at their hearts in time to the music. Jensen makes puppy eyes at Jared and feigns a knife to the heart. Of course he’s making his version as dirty as possible, because with lyrics like these, how can you not? He feels his mastery of the longest joke he’s ever endured taking over.

Jensen would _do_ anything for love. He’d run right into hell and back, an admission that makes his audience absolutely insane with glee. Yes, Jensen would _do_ anything for love.

He makes sure to point right at Jared as he croons, for the last time, “But I won’t do _that_.”

The audience literally roars.

Jensen, shielding his eyes from the horror of doing Jared, thinks he sees Misha wince. Misha’s eyes dart and return, and his mouth twists down. Something shifts in Jensen’s chest like a toppling weight and, for a split second, he feels like he knows why but can’t put any words to it.

By the time Jensen follows Misha’s eye-flicker and actually looks at Jared, there’s only laughter and that familiar grin.

**

The joke has been slaughtered. Which is odd because it’s definitely not dead. Jensen gets plenty of cracks from the crew, as well as plenty of congratulations on his new music video, which will likely have even more hits on You Tube than the first one. But the joke still feels, somehow, like it’s been gutted and skinned, and hung up on the nearest tree branch, out of reach of random packs of wolves.

Maybe it’s because Jared hasn’t made one comment since Jensen’s performance.

Things don’t feel different. Jared still snorfles his way through take after take, still pats Jensen on the back and gets hand-slappy in the Impala. But anything referring to Jensen’s Jared-addiction is gone. Jensen doesn’t know whether to feel happy or worried at first, but as the joke slips slowly out of the realm of funny and into the land of nostalgia, Jensen stops worrying and lets himself get back into the regular swing of things.

Until things _are_ different. Not on set, but at home.

**

“Dude.”

Jared doesn’t answer. Jensen rereads the letter and shakes his head. _“Dude.”_

Nothing. Jensen cranes his head back and shouts down the hall to the living room. “Dude!”

Jared has obviously gone deaf, but the hellhounds come running. Jensen wades through wagging tails and floppy tongues, down the hall and into the sprawling living room. Jared is plugged into his iPod, whacking his hands on the coffee table to what sounds like a violent and shrieky bout with Drowning Pool.

Jensen tugs an ear bud out. “Dude, read this.”

Jared shuts off the music and arcs his head back over the couch, looking curious. Good enough. Jensen thrusts the letter at him and tries not to puke at the wafting plumeria cloud it’s been drenched in.

Jared does a triple take before spinning to his knees on the couch and shoving the letter at Jensen. “Are you— Are they seriously— What the fuck?”

Jensen grins and buffs his knuckles on his shirt. “Fifty-five percent of slash fans think I’d look sexier wearing Frederick’s of Hollywood than you.”

“That’s a _lie_ ,” Jared says, indignant. “You are nothing but a big fat lying liar.”

“Hey, don’t kill the messenger,” Jensen placates, lifting both hands. He checks his own ass and raises his eyebrows at Jared. “Just telling you the stats, as accepted by the FBI.”

“The huh?”

“Fangirl Board of Information. See?”

Jensen angles his hips to provide a visual aid, and Jared’s eyes drop dutifully to his jean-clad butt before skipping back up again. But when they do, they just stop, fixed on Jensen’s face. Jensen feels inexplicably like he’s just been asked an important question, one he should answer. And he can’t look away. It’s several seconds before Jared shakes his head and the stillness breaks.

“No way. I can carry off lacey buttfloss much better than you,” Jared grumbles, peering over his shoulder at his own back end. He puckers up his face in a pout the size of Texas, then jumps to his feet and makes for the kitchen. “That’s it. I’m writing back. Get the Polaroid.”

Jensen laughs, but thinks he manages it a little late.

**

“Misha. Read it and weep.”

Misha stares at the letter in his hand. “What is it?”

“Jared and I have Max pick out all the more avant garde pieces of fanmail so we can laugh. It just so happens that I win the Supernatural underwear contest.”

Misha reads, then sets the letter down and picks up his phone. He taps a little, twiddles a bit, and shows Jensen [a photo](http://twitpic.com/1j5qax) on Twitter.

Jensen never wants to think about underwear again.

**

Jared’s indoctrinating him into the fandom of True Blood, pointing out all the helpful information such as how smoking hot Tara is, how awesome it would be to have the Compton Southern accent for real, and how Vikings make the most bad-ass motherfuckin’ vampires. They’re currently living off beer, potato chips, and wasabi peas, and Jensen can’t remember the last time he had the couch to himself like this.

He does really like the soundtrack, though, and he says as much to Jared. “Really like the soundtrack.”

“Oh, man, this whole show’s made of awesome. Here, check this part out, Jason Stackhouse is a total douche.”

Jason Stackhouse might be a total douche— and Jason might currently have a hard-on so huge that Jensen is _this close_ to jumping up and running the hell out of there— but for whatever reason, Jensen’s only catching every other swear word out of Tara’s mouth. (Even if, damn, she totally is as hot as all that.)

It’s the fucking couch. It’s too damn big, and for some godawful reason, that’s screwing with Jensen’s ears.

“Course, Jason’s kind of adorable as a douche,” Jared allows, taking a long swig of his Heineken. “How he manages both at the same time… One of the mysteries of life. Or.” Jared points right at Jensen from where he’s sitting clear across the carpet. “Or he’s related to Chad.”

Jensen nods. It’s a sound hypothesis. “Could be. Hey.”

“Yeah?” Jared fixes him with an inquisitive forehead-scrunch.

Jensen clears his throat, because what he’d planned on saying suddenly doesn’t sound as smooth as it had when he planned it. Instead, he gestures at the empty couch cushions he’s been so bravely trying to cover with both legs.

Jared follows the movement of his hand and looks back, still curious.

“Dude.” Jensen straightens, trying to remember how to sit like a normal person. “Couch versus rug? Come on.”

Jared looks away for a second, and then pushes to his feet and trips over to the couch. And sits down, and it should count as a win, except that he’s all the way on the other side, doing the last thing Jensen ever expected him to do: sitting like a normal person. With feet on the floor and arm on the armrest, back against the appropriate cushions. He’s got his other arm on the backrest, elbow crooked so that his hand hangs down midway across the couch.

Suddenly Jensen can’t feel anything _but_ the space.

It all swings in a little hard at that moment, all the not-happenings of late. It’s weird to notice something for not happening, isn’t it? Jensen’s sure it is, and if not, then Misha could convince him. But, it’s just this:

Jensen can’t remember the last time Jared hugged him. Which, you know, _Jared_.

Not that Jensen keeps a diary with dates and notations or anything. It’s just something one notices, not having a best friend’s body heat usurping one’s own because the best friend in question has an arm slung around one’s shoulders/a hand hooked around one’s waist/a face buried in one’s arm/a leg riding up one’s jeans/insert other personal space abuse here.

Jensen knows he doesn’t smell bad. He stopped checking a couple days ago. And he knows he hasn’t pissed Jared off in some inevitable way due to their living situation, because if he had, then Jared would just be up in his room listening to screaming people who call themselves singers, or maybe out with his dogs somewhere. And he still takes Jensen along to the park and all that to keep the hellhounds happy, and he still talks to Jensen and laughs with Jensen and cracks jokes with Jensen. So it can’t be anything specific that Jensen did. Jared’s not exactly the secretive sort. If Jensen’s fucked up unforgivably, then he’s sure to hear about it, probably before he’s even finished fucking up. Jared’s just like that. He’s had too many relationships fall apart because someone didn’t pipe up and say what the hell was bothering them. Jared’s only told him about one of those broken friendships in detail, but for Jared, who takes everything like a personal slug to the gut, that’s more than enough, and Jensen winces at the mere thought that he might have caused that kind of angst.

But he hasn’t. Jared isn’t angsting, he’s fucking laughing. At Chad’s TV twin.

“Hey,” Jensen says to break the silence, even though there isn’t any silence. “Wanna run lines after this episode? There’s a scene…”

He trails off. Jared looks at him, smiles, and nods.

“Sure.”

They’ve got tough scenes coming up. It’s a perfectly legitimate question. And Jared said yes. So why does Jensen feel like he’s taken a step backward rather than forward?

**

It’s a fucktard of a week on Supernatural. They’ve lost Cas, but found Jimmy’s body. Someone’s betrayed their whereabouts to the angels: Zachariah has turned Dean’s mind into his own personal museum of horrors, and the exhibition this month features all the ways that Sam is going to destroy the world, take on a new tenant for that big, strong Winchestery body of his, or die in horrific, excruciating agony.

On Dean’s rack, even. At Dean’s hand.

The last scene on Friday takes all day, and Jensen’s pretty damn sure the network is going to have three litters of kittens over how Not Ratings Friendly it is to show Sam being cut to pieces by his own demented brother, while in the mind of said demented brother, one inch at a time. Jensen’s innards feel as raw as the special effects slop sitting on the table in front of him, his throat hurts like a sonofabitch, and his hands are literally shaking around the hilt of the machete Dean’s got hold of.

The wrap around five o’clock is such a godsend that Jensen wants to just go and lie down. Just as soon as he’s properly un-Deaned by costume and makeup.

Afterward, Eric walks with him, out of the way of the crew as they whip everything away into boxes and crates and the backs of vans, thanking him for the tough grind this week and assuring him that the next set of scenes will be a walk in the park in comparison, and would he like to go to Sparrow’s Bistro and Bar with the rest of them, kick back, unwind, and basically talk smack about the writers for putting all of them into this position?

Of course, the answer is yes. Eric claps him on the back and disappears toward his trailer. The sky is just beginning to pink up with the coming sunset. A breeze ruffles Jensen’s hair, makes his eyes feel too dry. There’s no one else around; they’re all breaking down the set or preparing to depart for the evening, and for the first time in days, Jensen can just… breathe.

It’s too much tired and too much ugly and too much “once more, with feeling.” Jensen sits down on a stack of crates and nearly misses. He’s thinking that, wow, he’s awfully shaky tonight, when he realizes he’s crying.

Damn. He’s not even sad. _Dean_ is sad, _Dean_ keeps getting his heart jerked around on a chain while trampling his own self-worth into the mud, _Dean_ keeps putting his baby brother through shit and then not forgiving Sam for the shit he gets into himself, and Jensen’s merely the outlet, but, god. God. He can’t _stop_.

He’s exhausted. Just wants to topple over and slip from sobs into sleep. It’s the weekend, his work is done for two days, and here he is, menopausal and unable to stand up, he’s trembling so violently. He remembers in elementary school, fifth grade, that day he drank too much water and had to get picked up by his mom. There was this little third grader who cried herself to sleep on the nurse’s cot across from him, and then she kept crying all the way through whatever dreams she was having.

Similarly, his mom had a year way back when all she did was cry for no reason, and she’d smile at him through her tears and laugh and tell him not to worry, she wasn’t really sad, but he didn’t believe her until now, when he just gets it. He gets it.

A few minutes later, he thinks he’s winding it up— not shaking quite so hard, able to catch his breath between bouts— and he pushes to his feet, feeling this weird sense of complacency, when Jared shows up.

“Hey, man, they’re ready to head out if you—”

Jensen’s in mid-hitch. He spins away, wiping at his face. Another sob pushes its way through, but it’s weaker. His cheeks are all wet, he’s cried his contacts out of place, and it takes him a second to adjust and turn around again. When he does, Jared is already there, one hand reaching, touching down on his shoulder and drawing him in.

“Jen.”

Jensen sniffs and clears his throat. “Lousy week, Jared, that’s all.”

It’s the first time Jared’s embraced him in a while, and Jensen notices it all over again when Jared curls his arm around his shoulders and leans into him. Jensen’s mind gets to work trying to pick that apart, more why he keeps noticing than why Jared hasn’t been hugging him lately, and Jared says, “I know, man.” He rubs Jensen’s arm as if he’s chafing away a chill. “I know.”

**

The next day, they’re home again because, yay, Saturday, but the whole man-hug thing might as well have not happened. Jensen’s somewhat confused, if by ‘somewhat’, you mean a lot confused, mostly confused, pretty much ninety-nine point nine percent confused. Confused with a chance of befuddlement.

There’s only one thing to do. It’s high time he cooked up a batch of Jared Cookies.

They’re these awesome chocolate chip cookies with coconut and crushed nuts and toffee and other top secret items. Jared Cookies are to chocolate chip cookies what the Brooklyn Bridge is to that little plank of rotten wood that Jensen jumped over when he was eight, right before falling on his ass into the stream while Josh laughed so hard he choked on his own spit. The recipe for Jared Cookies is a closely guarded Padalecki secret, handed over to Jensen with much cheek patting and finger waving by Jared’s own mother. _I only give it to family,_ she’d said. _You hear that, Jensen Ackles? Family. If I ever find this on MyFace or YouBook or whatever, I’ll have to disown you._ The only time Jensen ever felt more privileged was when he actually took a bite of one of those cookies.

So he slaves all afternoon over mixing bowls and quisinarts (once again, these things work much better if they have a lid on) and the oven and finally the dishwasher (because Jared put the dish soap in last night and then forgot to start the damn thing so they have no clean plates or glasses), and by the time he’s done, the kitchen smells like the best slice of heaven he’s ever sniffed. And he admits to himself, pulling the cookies out to cool, that this can be a truce of whatever kind it needs to be, but mostly it’s a thank you for that hug last night, when Jensen didn’t end up composing himself for a full five minutes after Jared wrapped his arms around him. And that’s Jared’s fault, really, because who could be composed in the face of all that empathy, which smells, like it does, of Jared Padalecki’s armpit? Physically impossible.

But seriously, Jensen wouldn’t mind those hugs on a regular basis again, Jared. Hint, hint, have a cookie. Have two dozen.

He has time to put the cookies in the cookie jar, leave said jar tantalizingly in the middle of the counter, and head back to the bathroom to take a shower before his cell rings and Jared tells him he’s running late because of road work downtown, and does Jensen want Thai tonight?

Psh. Jensen always wants Thai.

Only when Jared gets home, he pushes the cookie jar back to its normal spot to make room for tons of takeout, and Jensen can only stare as Jared pulls out two boxes of Betty Crocker Chocolate Chunk Brownie Mix and preheats the oven. Jared grabs the bowl out of the dishwasher and the mixing spoon too, and then carefully steps around Jensen when they’re both standing in front of the fridge. Sidesteps him. By, like, a two foot radius. And waits for Jensen to get the hint and move out of the way so Jared can get the eggs.

Usually Jared just moves him bodily out of his space when the situation calls for it. Sometimes he makes an irritating nasal beeping sound while he’s backing Jensen up, both hands pressed to Jensen’s sternum, whole body nudging forward until Jensen finally caves and admits defeat.

But now, Jared just will not touch him and Jensen can’t take it anymore. His prowess in the kitchen has been shunted aside, Jared’s favorite sweet treat ever has been ignored, Jared is mixing eggs and chocolate to death in that stupid bowl, and Jensen’s about to pop like an overinflated helium balloon. He opens his mouth, determined to demand Jared’s undying flukeworm-like attachment to him again or he’ll steal the brownie bowl and eat all the mix himself. With his hands, damn it.

The reality of it, the part he can’t quite articulate even to himself, is that he’s all muddled up inside and well on his way to crazy.

He gets as far as shoving his thumb into the bowl and sucking it into his mouth before he actually looks at Jared and finds he can’t say any of it. He can’t yell at this Jared, and he’s not sure why, but that bit inside him that won’t stand for this weird ape-shit behavior bubbles right out of his mouth into, “Aw, honey, you baked!”

There’s a moment when Jared looks at him, just flicks his eyes like he’s studying Jensen, like he’s _wary_ , and Jensen’s kind of caught in the pause, not breathing, until Jared lets his smile creep free. He flips the wooden spoon and presents it to Jensen with a flourish. “That I did, Sugar Plum.”

“Well, so did I,” Jensen says. He opens the cookie jar and gets mauled by an excited slavering beast.

Sadie and Harley are there, too.

**

But then it’s like Jared hits a reset button or something. Like he’s set himself some sort of bar, and every time he trips over it, he leaps back to the starting line and goes for the gold again. It’s getting to the point where Jensen wonders if he didn’t dream up the breakdown hug and the cookie tackle.

He doesn’t know what he’s _done_. It’s affecting his acting, too: at one point, the visiting director actually came up and took him by the shoulder, trying to find out if he was just spaced out or if he was prone to going catatonic in the middle of a scene. The look on Jared’s face was as concerned as ever, but the shoulder slaps? The pat on his arm or back or where-fucking-ever? No.

It’s like Jensen’s no longer standing next to his best friend.

Jensen has done some feeling around, trying to gauge Jared’s level of irritation, but for all his poking and prying, he’s been able to find nothing. Zip. Diddly-squat. Either Jared is trying out an entirely new form of acting that will bag him a fucking Oscar (yes, for a television show), or he’s just not angry.

So Jensen starts spending his free time rehashing the last month in his mind, trying to find the discrepancy that he’s sure is there.

The last time Jared acted… well, like Jared, was around the time of the Joke from Hell. Okay. Easy enough. But then Jared was even more all over Jensen than usual, so… Did Jared hit some kind of limit? Set off some timer that said _‘ding! Your allotment of body-glomps has now expired!’_? Jensen didn’t even know there were limits like that, but Jared may not be entirely human, so it’s possible. So. Joke from Hell. Fun times with Misha. Jensen’s song, and _then_ Jensen remembers the odd reaction Misha had to his Meatloaf solo, and he wonders if Misha knows something about all this.

The only problem with asking Misha is that, if Misha doesn’t really know anything of import, Jensen’s never going to know about it. Whatever Misha Collins feeds him will be maniacally convincing, and Jensen will just be opening himself up to more scrutiny by laying down the question in the first place, but then again, Misha’s never once used any information he’s gained in a malicious manner. For all Misha’s incredible whackitude, he’s the most confidential confidante Jensen knows.

Jensen invites Misha for drinks, and then asks him to drive, because Jared needs the car.

(Actually, Jared wrestled the keys out of Jensen’s hands amidst much yelling and swearing that morning. It was epic, and the most physical contact Jensen has had with Jared for weeks.)

After two beers’ worth of listening to Misha rave about how many times he fell out of Jim’s wheelchair during shooting that day while kicking empty Coke cans at a bulls-eye they painted on the side of Bobby’s van (during which Jensen makes a personal vow to never, ever let Misha Collins meet Chad Michael Murray because the world would just fucking explode, thanks), Jensen decides he’s good to get things rolling.

“Misha, you think Jared’s acting weird?”

Misha barely glances at him. “As opposed to when he acts normal?”

Misha’s definition of normal aside, Jensen walked right into that one. “I just. Think he’s acting weird. Weirder than usual. Around me.”

Misha’s hand tightens around his glass. “Yeah.”

Okay, so he’s got a consensus, but he’s still not sure what that means. “Yeah, you agree? Or yeah, you heard me?”

“Yeah, I both.” Misha doesn’t look at Jensen. He studies the leftovers of his current beer. “Well, you were pretty harsh.”

Whoa. Back the truck up. “I— Misha, what the—?”

“With the song. But then, he probably deserved it, so…” Misha tilts his head, considering. “Can’t blame you there.”

Jensen just shakes his head. He’s not sure where to start.

Misha sighs. “Remember that night in the bar? With the ketchup packet, and you all angry.”

Yes, Jensen remembers that night. No, not by choice. “What about it?”

“That’s when I knew.”

Jensen’s going to need Misha to throw the bone a little harder. “Knew what?”

“You. And Jared.”

Correction: Misha needs to hit him right between the eyes with this bone. Obviously. “Me… and Jared what?”

“Heard it in your voice.” Misha looks very solemn, and Jensen’s not sure if this is a joke or not. Misha shrugs. “Wasn’t sure how to take it, but I figured you didn’t need teasing about that from me when you were getting it from him.”

There’s something about the way Misha says _him_ that makes Jensen pause. “Never stopped you before. In fact, I’m pretty sure that was the whole point for a while there.”

Misha actually grimaces. For real. Castiel grimaces all the time, but Misha? “But I didn’t need to bring it to the forefront.”

Jensen gets two heartbeats before things start clicking home. “Wait, wait a minute. Wait. Just… hang on.”

Misha grabs the table top tightly with both hands and hangs on. It makes Jensen a little angry and he snaps his next words. “What exactly do you think you brought to the forefront? There’s nothing there! He was teasing me, that’s all. Jared was just being Jared.”

Misha eyes him balefully. “Are you sure about that?”

Well, he _was_. “What the hell are _you_ talking about?”

Misha drops his eyes and contemplates his pint glass. “Teasing hurts more when it’s about something true.”

Jensen has to sit down. No, he has to pace. He has to put something gross in Misha’s beer or poke him in the eye or something because he’s not dealing with the implications of this conversation very well. Maybe he has to go out and let the air out of Jared’s tires. But the car’s not here and besides, then they wouldn’t be able to drive anywhere. “What are you talking about?” he says again.

Misha sighs. He’s blushing a little, and if Jensen’s head wasn’t currently screwed on backward, he would rib him about it properly. “You don’t need to be teased about liking Jared by… Jared.”

Jensen has to stop freezing up like this. It’s making him doubt his self-confidence, his faith in his own body. He jerks a hand up, then down, and settles on grabbing his hair. “No. No, you— I don’t like Jared! Like that! He can tease— It doesn’t matter about that because there’s nothing to be teased about!”

Or… yeah. It made sense, really. Jensen takes a deep breath and tries again. “He’s annoying. But it’s not… like that.”

Epic fail.

“Because it looks like it hurts you,” Misha says without looking up.

Jensen opens his mouth, and then shuts up. Does it? Does it look like it’s hurting him? He’s always been somewhat aware of his body language and mannerisms, because the other people who are somewhat aware of that stuff are known as the paparazzi, and Jensen’s no newbie to the surreal life. But Misha’s more observant than an owl on the hunt, and Jensen’s never had to hold up his guard around the rest of the cast and crew like he does with the public anyway. He doesn’t feel hurt. Not… not really. Not in that way, and that’s the important thing. It’s not like the situation stabs harder because Jared is the one not taking it seriously.

Shit. Did he just think that?

“Misha, shut up. You’re brainwashing me.”

And then Misha actually looks worried, and that’s much, much harder to handle all of a sudden.

**

Should he be hurt? Like, more than he is. If he were hurt, so to speak.

**

Jared smiles at him the next morning as they pass in the kitchen, and, yes, that right there in Jensen’s chest is technically defined as pain. Because it’s a big smile, it might even be a huge smile. But nothing is as ginormous as the Big Smile, nothing quirks in that particular way at the right side of Jared’s mouth as the Big Smile, and that’s… not it.

The very worst part is that Jensen realizes he recognizes this smile anyway. He’s seen it a lot lately.

It’s morning, Jared chooses to be more Mona Lisa than usual, and Jensen feels _sick_. Like the breakfast he ate never actually made it into his stomach, just evaporated halfway down, leaving him queasy and empty and hungry.

He goes for a jog anyway with Jared and the hellhounds around ten, and by the time they get back, they’re both so loosened up and settled back into their respective grooves that Jensen lets the rest drop back behind his other thoughts and leaves it there.

**

Jogging becomes a good bad thing. Good because it’s happening pretty much every day now, and Jensen’s feeling better than he’s felt in a while. Bad because he doesn’t remember Jared jogging so far away from him before.

Of course, when Jensen closes the distance, Harley tangles himself in Sadie’s leash in one second flat, so maybe there’s a reason for that.

**

So Jensen’s fucking sore now, thanks a lot, Jared Padalecki. Sore calves, sore thighs, hell, even sore abs and he really has no explanation for that. It might be attributed to getting belted in the gut by Harley’s immense head when Jensen was dumb enough to catch the Frisbee right in front of himself, but really, seeing as Harley knocked Jensen on his ass, shouldn’t that be what hurts more?

It did make Jared laugh, though, till he fell over. And if Jensen stuck a leg out and tripped him when he came over to laugh right in Jensen’s face, well, that was neither here nor there. Jared’s a klutz, everyone knows it.

Jared’s turned off his inner klutz at the moment, though, or his inner charmer is just the stronger of the two, because the bar has not yet kicked him out for accidentally faceplanting into a support beam and knocking the entire building down. Plus, Jared has scored two free drinks out of the bartender so far just on the merits of his smile, so Jensen can’t complain. That smile’s a bona fide lady-killer.

What he _can_ complain about are muscles that shouldn’t be hurting, and he does complain, very verbosely once Jim stops talking to Misha. Jim looks a little sad that he didn’t have more to say, but Jensen is of the opinion that sharing is caring. He took his childhood lessons to heart; his mama weren’t no slouch.

For his part, Misha seems to find the hellhound massacre highly amusing, but then again, Misha and Jim have been here longer and Misha looks like he’s rounding tipsy and heading for smashed. Jensen isn’t even close to being drunk, and he doesn’t plan to be. Being drunk when you already feel off-kilter is not the way to go; Mike Rosenbaum proved that three years ago and hasn’t been allowed back in Afterglow since. He might also have told Tom Welling that he wanted to bear his children that night, and while that worked out alright, the angry police escort most certainly did not.

Not that there’s any comparison between Mike’s situation and Jensen’s. Totally different issues. He’s pretty sure.

Except somehow in the last ten seconds, Misha up and went all morose. He seems to be in the process of breaking up with his lager. Jim’s determinedly not paying attention to the tragedy of operatic proportions taking place next to him, and the only one left is Jared, over at the bar with Kripke and the rest.

Which means he’s not at the table with them. Jensen tries to catch Jared’s eye so that they can communicate with their eyebrows.

Seriously, it’s a language. He and Jared took classes.

But Jared has caught other people’s eyes instead, and at first Jensen doesn’t know if it was on purpose or not. That’s the third girl to saunter by and lean into Jared’s space. Jared’s not really leaning back, he’s just conversing, a polite nod here, a quick smile there. He’s holding his current drink in one hand and the other hand is in his pocket, which means it’s not on the bar, inching into the vicinity of the girl’s hand. Jensen’s seen that move. Hell, he honed that move by watching Jared perform it perfectly. And Jared’s not using it.

It’s not until Jared closes off the conversation and turns, signaling the bartender again, that the girl wanders off. Jared sips his drink as he waits— his hand is now out of his pocket, fingers drumming on the top of the bar— and then the bartender pulls a gorgeous pint of Labatt’s Blue that glows in the light. Jensen’s favorite. Jared runs his fingers down the side of the tumbler before gripping it, and maybe it’s the way his left shoulder drops or the way his thumb curves down the glass, or the way his eyelids dip as he turns, careful not to spill, because—

Reality, which was out to lunch somewhere in the next county, suddenly comes home with a vengeance, and Jensen forgets how to breathe.

His throat closes, just like that. As if Jared’s been shoved into new lighting or been lit from the inside, because— he’s _not_ the same Jared that Jensen was looking at two seconds ago.

He’s… Oh, he’s…

 _Oh._

Jensen drops his glass off the edge of the table. And stares.

**

God. When… When did he…

Over Jared?

**

Jared flirts. He’s damn good at it. He’s not the type to charm ‘em and take ‘em home, though, because he’s too polite, too respectful, and he’s aware of his celebrity. Oh, is he ever. Still, that never stopped the smiles and the touches, the sweet nothings and the compliments in that smooth, gentle voice of his. Many a woman has fallen head over heels for that voice.

So it’s the lack of flirting that night that turns Jensen over onto _his_ head and pushes Jared right out of the realm of friend and into something much more complicated.

Jensen has a hard time sleeping that night, and the next night. And the night after that. He thinks it through. He waits for it to fade, because sometimes it really does do that. He takes the dogs for walks and beats the pants off Jared at Halo and looks up from his script when Jared enters the room with sushi from that awesome place downtown, and fucking trembles every time Jared’s laugh reaches that one pitch, the one that flips Jensen’s stomach as well as his wits, end over end until all of him is falling and he just can’t— stop.

Suddenly, Jared makes him short of breath. Suddenly, Jared’s profile is etched in a new way against the light. Suddenly the curve of his smile takes on a million more meanings simply because Jensen is… He’s cataloguing it, he’s noticing. He’s becoming fluent in the unspoken language of Jared’s mouth.

And suddenly, he knows there’s nothing sudden about any of it.

~tbc~


	2. Chapter 2

Jensen makes the phone call because, truthfully, he can’t handle this by himself. He can’t. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, he doesn’t know where to look, he doesn’t know what to do with this gaping _space_ in the area of his chest. He doesn’t know when exactly it got there, but he knows it’s there, and he’s felt it before so he knows what it means, and he’s not sure he’s not going to be utterly overwhelmed by it again.

When the connection garbles itself awake, Jensen is already in full gripe mode. “Mom, why did you bring me into a world where _life sucks_?”

“Hello, sweetie,” she answers, voice coated in extra sugar. “Feeling alright?”

After a minute of more socially acceptable greetings and another wherein Jensen discovers that neither his sister nor his brother have had anything cataclysmic or groundbreaking occur in their lives since they last talked, Jensen answers the question.

“No,” he mutters. “I’m not feeling alright. I think I’m in love. Sucks.”

His mother has this mom ability to electronically hug her son through the phone, somehow. If the USA could patent that skill, the economy would no longer blow. “Oh, honey. Is it alright if I’m glad for you?”

Of course it’s alright. His mother can do no wrong, and Jensen knows that he is just as whipped as ever. In a good way. “It’s the wrong reaction,” he cautions anyway. It doesn’t matter; she won’t believe him.

“Alright, dear. May I ask, who is the lucky individual?”

This will certainly be fun, coming out to his mom at the same time he comes out to himself, for fuck’s sake, and why didn’t he plan this out a little more intelligently? And then he digests what she said. “I… who?”

“Honey, how is Jared taking it?”

There’s a pause while Jensen tries not to self-combust. His mom speaks again.

“It’s fine, Jensen. Look at it this way, at least you’ve both already gone through the business of introducing the families.”

He must not have answered, because his mother goes on, sounding troubled. “Jensen? It _is_ Jared. Right?”

Jensen nods. Of course, there’s no response, and he wants to smack himself. “Right. Jared. Him.”

If she hadn’t had to deal with Jensen’s brand of crazy for years already, she would be laughing her ass off at him, he’s always suspected it. His mother sighs. “Sweetheart? It’s really alright. Okay?”

Jensen scuffs a toe into the carpet. “Why did you know about this before me?”

She sighs again and it’s different. His mother is as expressive with her sighs as Jared is with his forehead. “Baby, I’m your mother, I know everything. I also love you, do you understand that? No matter what, and I want you to believe me on this, because I can hear you shaking your head.”

Jensen stops shaking his head. “Mom.”

“Jensen Ross Ackles, you had me at hello, is that clear? And that means for keeps, regardless of who you fall for. You could be in love with a dill pickle and I’d still want you to bring it home for dinner and introduce it to Mackenzie.”

Jensen rubs his face. “This is why I’m so weird, isn’t it?”

This time she inhales. “Look. I’m not saying that having it confirmed is the same as suspecting. I’m going to have to adjust, but _not_ to loving you. Just to knowing you better. Alright? Now stop strangling that phone.”

Jensen feels pain in his fingers and nearly drops the receiver trying to relax them. “Mom… Dad?”

A pause. “Let me work on your father, sweetie.”

It’s even more painful, because maybe he never really believed that his mom would turn him away, but with his dad it feels a little more realistic, a little more _there_. His throat starts to sting. He swallows. “Mom?”

“He’ll never stop loving you either, pumpkin. I promise. I watched him watching you as a baby, as a little boy, and now as a man. He thinks the world of you, Jensen. He’s so proud. Thirty-plus years of bottomless adoration don’t up and vanish overnight.”

“Thirty-plus years of bottomless adoration don’t usually find out their son is gay,” Jensen mutters. The word ‘gay’ sounds pretty strange.

“Jensen?”

“Yeah, Mom.”

“There is nothing wrong with loving that boy. I’d be the biggest hypocrite in the universe if I hated you for that.”

He really wishes he could hug her right now. Like, _really_.

When he gets off the phone, Jensen stands in front of the mirror and says, “Jensen Ackles, you are gay.” Fifteen times. Now the word itself just sounds weird.

**

He tries it on Misha next. Because he’s just that stupid.

“So, I’m pretty positive I’m gay. At the very least, bi.”

Misha sips his gin. “And I’m pretty positive I knew that.” He puts the glass down, wipes his mouth, and stands up. “So. Let’s get to it.”

Jensen stares. “What?”

“The sex,” Misha states. “The boinking. The shagging and the rimming and even the fisting, because I’m in a giving mood tonight. Or plastered, one or the other.”

Jensen nearly inhales his beer. “Misha,” he splutters, “I don’t want to have sex with you!”

“Proof that you’re not a minion.”

“Misha, ew. Just ew.”

“Well, what the hell are you telling me for, then?” Misha spreads his hands, eyebrows practically floating off his face.

Jensen wouldn’t have thought this was rocket science, but he’s learned never to overestimate his costars. “’Cause you’re my friend? A little?”

“Yeah, but like I said, I already know. The only reason you’d have to reiterate it is if you want me to screw you. Or you want to screw me. Or you think I’m slower than a five-legged worm.”

Jensen pushes his beer away before he chokes himself on all the weird. “Yeah, none of the above.”

“Then isn’t there someone else you should be telling?”

When Misha puts it like that, Jensen really hates him. Because he really doesn’t enjoy feeling so terrified.

**

God. He should move out. He’ll _have_ to move out. Because… that’s obvious.

The hellhounds get into his bedroom somehow and slobber him all the way to wakefulness. Harley tries breaking his ribs and Sadie gets a little fresh with his crotch. As for Jared, he might have been drawn to the doorway by Jensen’s howling. Jensen’s not really sure, because the indignity of being crushed under fifty tons of mastiff mutt while simultaneously being molested by an inquisitive nose made him shut his eyes a long time ago.

On his tombstone? ‘The dingo ate my nads. Crikey.’

“Harley!” Jared booms. “Harley, get off!”

Harley plonks down onto Jensen’s chest and looks forlorn. Sadie seems to have decided there’s kibble somewhere between Jensen’s legs and Jensen knows for a fact that there _most definitely is not_. Nor is there bacon, or vanilla bean ice cream. But apparently there _is_ Jared, wrestling his dog away from Jensen’s privates in such a way as to remind Jensen very forcefully that his feelings for his housemate are now spelled G-A-Y instead of B-U-D-D-Y. Jensen wishes fervently that Jared would just get out from between his thighs already, and then he nearly laughs himself sick.

And wheezy, because, yeah, Harley.

Jared succeeds in tugging Sadie to the floor and wrapping all four limbs around her. She settles for licking his face like a lollipop. “Taking the kids for a run,” Jared says breathlessly from his spot on the rug. He grins up at Jensen. Still not his normal grin. “Wanna tag along?”

Harley drools on Jensen’s chin, and then stuffs his face into Jensen’s neck and rubs back and forth. Jared’s grin goes a little bit bigger.

“God, he loves you.”

“And I love him,” Jensen says without thinking, because it’s true. He loves this dog. And that dog. And that man wrapped around that dog. His heart breaks all over again.

“Dude.” Jared leans up on one elbow, frowning. “Hey. You alright?”

“Good,” Jensen says, shoving Harley one way, his blankets another, and himself out of bed. He leaps over Jared and Sadie. “Shower. No run today. Bye.”

It would have worked, except that Harley gets all the way into the bathtub before Jensen can close the door. Luckily, Jared’s laughing too hard to notice any increase in emo tendencies.

**

Because despite Misha’s certainty, Jensen’s pretty sure that Jared wasn’t trying to convey any subtext with that joke. Just like with all his other dirty jokes.

Yeah. He has to move out.

**

He starts collecting the real estate listings from the paper each morning before Jared gets hold of it. When Jared has a late shoot, Jensen marks them up with a red pen while Harley lays siege to an innocent rawhide and Sadie mopes at Jensen like he’s just written her a Dear Jane letter.

“Oh, come on, girl.”

Mope.

“It’s not like I’m _leaving_ leaving.”

Mope.

“You can’t even read these ads!”

Huge sigh followed by that old fallback… Mope.

**

He can’t live with Jared and be in love with Jared. It won’t work. Just thinking about the inevitable time when Jared will no longer be single makes Jensen’s heart hurt like nothing ever has before, and he can handle it if he must. He’ll have to handle it. But he can’t do it while living one floor below, sharing mugs and coffee, and…

No.

The days aren’t any different. Not for him and not for Jared. Just, his days are definitely different from Jared’s, and now Jensen can’t even talk through his confusion with his best friend. Jared runs in the morning and whups him at Left For Dead at night (seriously, that’s a high zombie count and those freaking Witches are _terrifying_ ), and one night it hits Jensen, right when Jared shouts after taking out a Tank— lifts both arms and spins in a circle doing some sort of long lost rain dance— that the countdown of nights like this one has begun. Soon, he’ll leave, and they’ll still hang out of course, but not like this.

Jensen feels like he’s at the end of a fucking era, which is just stupid: the show hasn’t been cancelled, Dean hasn’t been actor-swapped, and Jared still enjoys his company.

And then Jensen gets home late, goes into his room, and finds Jared slouched on his bed, a red-marked page of the newspaper hanging limply between his hands.

Jared looks up, more lost than fifty moping Sadies. He lifts the paper a little. “What else did I do wrong?”

It’s the ‘else’ that fills the question to the brim, that chokes Jensen right back in time, and then forward until the different kinds of helplessness are all knotted up into one big ball of— of—

There’s not even a word for this. For how wretched Jensen feels, and how utterly responsible.

“You…” The word catches, the sentence hits a brick wall. Jared’s gaze remains locked on him, cinched tight. As if Jared has wrapped his hand around Jensen and squeezed. Jensen can’t face it; he can _not_ be the cause of this, he just can’t. If only it were a simple as wishing. “I. Jared.”

Jared’s eyes drop. “I’m sorry.” His voice sounds thick. “Shouldn’t have come in here.”

He rubs both palms against his jeans, and the newspaper slides to the floor. Sadie trots in and sits down in front of Jared, and Jensen stands there in the doorway, feeling numb until immense heat bleeds through his pant leg. He looks down to find Harley slumped against him, head to hind end.

Sadie’s head bumps up to rest on Jared’s knee.

“You didn’t do anything, Jay,” Jensen whispers. _I did something. This one’s all on me._

Jared’s hand rises and rests on Sadie’s head. His fingers rub back and forth once. He gets to his feet without looking at Jensen. “Alright.”

He walks out of the room, sliding past Jensen and Harley, and Jensen knows Jared doesn’t believe him.

**

But maybe it’s a little on Jared too because, Jensen’s discovering more and more, Jared is just too good to be true. Except he _is_ true, Jensen has seen it all along, he’s just never thought about it in this light until now. Jared and his morning perkiness, his hellhounds and his smile and his crazy annoying pranks that last for-fucking-ever... Jared may be the best thing that’s ever happened to Jensen.

And he knows it. For the first time, Jensen sees it reflected in that last undiscovered facet of himself. He can’t un-know it, but in a bittersweet, painful way, he still doesn’t want to.

**

They don’t run together in the mornings anymore.

The first day, the dogs come back lathered and panting, rushing into the kitchen with just enough notice for Jensen to hightail it out of there with his bowl of cereal. Jared doesn’t say anything; Jensen pauses in the hallway and listens to the front door close, Jared’s footsteps through the living room to the kitchen, the jingle as he hangs up the leashes, the dual thuds as he kicks his shoes off. Jensen hears water running at the sink, and then there’s this pause where he shuts his eyes and _sees_ Jared standing in the middle of the kitchen, sweat-soaked with his head thrown back, downing a full glass of water without coming up for air.

Jensen’s seen it often. This is the first time he’s actively thankful he’s not in the kitchen to witness it. He doesn’t know what it would do to him. To them.

There’s this hollow, steady ache in his stomach, and it twinges every time he thinks of Jared, every time he runs that scene in his room back over in his head. Every time he remembers the look on Jared’s face. He’d never, ever seen that look before, and he’s known Jared for a long time.

Jensen doesn’t think he could have run if he’d wanted to. He feels physically ill. His cereal doesn’t look appetizing at all anymore, and that’s significant because Jensen has loved this particular brand since he was ten.

It’s so stupid, but he feels like he’s been loving Jared even longer.

He retreats to his bedroom and sits down, holding his still-full bowl and trying not to feel so queasy. Josh had a trick for that, mind over matter, but Jensen doesn’t think it works when your mind fully agrees with the fact that you should feel like shit.

How could he have hurt Jared like this? Just… _how_ could he have done it? He’s supposed to be Jared’s best friend. He’s supposed to be in love with the guy. And somehow, in trying to correct for all that, he’s gone and hurt Jared anyway.

**

They might as well be living in separate buildings. Or… not. The thing is, Jensen sees Jared every day, and not just during filming. Which, thank goodness they have more individual scenes than sibling scenes lately, because Jensen’s having a hard time acting intimate around someone with whom he’s lost intimacy.

Jared’s not even avoiding him. If anything, Jared’s jovial. He’s personable. He’s a wisecracking, guffawing contributor to noise pollution everywhere. He’s not touching Jensen, but he hasn’t been doing that for a while now. The difference is when they’re discussing the script, their scenes and character interaction, and Jared’s voice just goes quiet. Subdued. Jensen never thought he’d put that word in the same hemisphere as Jared Padalecki.

But the separate building thing is a mind-trip, because nothing’s changed. They share a kitchen. They share the bathroom downstairs when Jared isn’t upstairs. They sit in the living room at the same time and they eat food that one of them brings home, and… Maybe Jensen’s the one with the problem. Maybe these walls between them are his doing, the freakish flailing of his imagination. It makes him wonder exactly how long their relationship has been eroding, or if he’s just completely lost perspective at this point because now he can’t look at Jared without this ache ballooning in his chest anyway.

So they’re reading lines in the living room, or they’re wrestling with one dog each, or… okay, for instance, they’re eating linguini with Caesar salad, and Jensen finishes, gets up and holds his hand out to take Jared’s plate. And sees it when Jared’s expression shivers, like an eggshell cracking. Sees the corners of his mouth drop. He hands Jensen his plate.

And then he vacates the first floor.

The reasons are always believable and delivered naturally: showering or getting his laundry back up to his room or heading to bed early. Jensen feels the strain in his lungs with each reason Jared gives, reminding him that loving someone means not causing this sort of stress in their lives.

One day Jensen pulls on the downstairs bathroom doorknob to go in and the knob falls off in his hand. He stares at it for three seconds before his eyes water and he’s fucking glad Jared is out at the store and not there to see it when Jensen’s mind connects the doorknob with the house, just one of those little quirks that give the place— their place— character. One of those quirks that he won’t find elsewhere.

That night, Jensen loads the dishwasher while Jared releases the hounds, and he’s about to place Jared’s plate in its slot when it hits him. His hand shakes and he drops the plate with a vicious clang. It doesn’t break, and Jensen remains there, bent at the waist, staring at the plate, the dishwasher, the kitchen, and thinking… thinking that he gets it.

It’s a slightly selfish thought. But he thinks he’s right. Because Jared only runs when Jensen does something domestic. Something that shows he’s still one half of this household.

**

He can’t function like this. He’s given up on the realty pages; Jensen’s never been a big procrastinator like his little sis, but damn it if he just can’t find the wherewithal to keep his thoughts on the target. To even look Jared in the eye anymore. Jensen’s so tense he doesn’t fall asleep for hours at night, and it’s starting to show on set: Kripke, when he’s there, has taken to frowning at him thoughtfully, and Jensen knows he’s just days away from some kind of melodramatic intervention. Eric’s probably conjured up all kinds of explanations, from insomnia all the way to drugs and streetwalking to make ends meet. It’s just what the mind of a writer does.

He _needs_ his best friend. He needs to sort this out, but he can’t because Jared _is_ the problem. No, not the problem; Jensen would never define Jared as a ‘problem’. But he can’t expect advice on this situation from Jared, not when he’s the one that Jensen is— Oh god.

It’s distressing how few close friends he realizes he has. He’s got good friends, but only two friends that he feels he can talk to about something like this. Jensen’s never had a problem with knowing he has two best friends. There’s no comparison between one or the other because he loves them for different reasons. And the same reasons too, and that’s alright. They are his best in different ways, and when he’s about to spill his innermost guts, there’s only one person other than Jared that he can talk to about it. Openly. Cleanly. With expectation of assistance and a minimum of feeling stupid.

He calls Chris Kane.

“Yeeello,” Chris drawls, and something in the word snaps that taut string in Jensen’s chest just for a second, and he’s saying hello. Feeling normal.

“Jensen Ross!” Chris is juggling the phone, Jensen can tell. He doesn’t know how, he has just always known when Chris is multitasking while on the phone. “What’s shakin’?”

“I need advice.” Jensen takes a deep breath. “And you might want to sit down. And drop whatever it is you’re carrying.”

“Fuck, what is this, Big Brother?” There’s a clunk and then a louder clunk, and Jensen winces as Chris cusses creatively. “Seriously, how the hell do you always— Okay. Stuff is down, and I ask again: What’s shakin’?”

“You sitting?”

“Jensen, just spit it the fuck out.”

So he does. As much as he is able. “Chris, I just realized I’m… sort of… in love with my costar. Jared, I mean.”

Chris doesn’t speak for a moment. “Wait. There’s a punchline, right?”

“Kane, what the fuck?”

He can almost see Chris throwing up the hand not holding the phone. “Jenny— Oh my god.”

“Chris, stop dicking around!”

Chris sighs. “Please don’t try to tell me you didn’t see this coming. Personally, I thought it was the best cosmic joke ever. Fucking made for each other, and I knew that years ago. Please don’t prove to me that I’m best buds with an idjit.”

Jensen knows nothing about this ‘best buds’ shit. No, Christian Kane has just been smacked right off that tiny list. With a fly swatter. “Fucking hell, man—”

“Jensen. You both have younger sisters with ‘M’ names. You both have older brothers with ‘J’ names. You’re both middle children and you _also_ have ‘J’ names! Does this not tell you something universally, ridiculously humorous?”

There’s no answer to that. There really isn’t because Chris is insane. Certifiable. And he won’t stop talking.

“Jenny, I swear to god, don’t make me bring up Texas, too, because if you do—”

 _“Look,”_ Jensen hisses, “just, Chris, just cut the shit, please. I’m— I’ve fucked up one of the best friendships I’ve ever had, with someone I might love more than any other person I’ve ever fallen for, and I’m— and you’re—”

He falls silent and hears Chris inhale.

“Damn, Jenny, breathe.” Chris’ voice is low. Sober. “Come on, man. I’m sorry. Just… Okay.”

Jensen clenches his eyes shut. They sting too much for this phone call. He feels like he’s tilting slowly sideways, unable to keep from toppling over. He takes a minute to get his inner balance back, and Chris speaks again.

“Okay, tell me what you did.”

Jensen tells him about the housing ads, and then realizes he’s started at the wrong place and cranks it back to the bar. Only the story’s a hell of a lot longer than that, and Jensen ends up telling it backwards until he finally gets to that fucker of a flubbed line, and Chris exhales, long and loud.

“Alright. Two things.”

“Yeah?”

“One. Your buddy Misha is a genius or something.”

Jensen snorts with all the energy he can muster. _Or something._

“Two… Jenny, do you love Jared? You said— said you loved him.”

It’s never sounded truer than at that moment, in Chris’ raspy voice. Jensen has always _loved_ Jared. There’s a certain tension inside him that didn’t exist until he met Jared Padalecki, a sense of heat and awareness, and knowing. That feeling has morphed, changing with each year, until Jensen couldn’t remember the way he felt without it, couldn’t even remember what it had started out feeling like because what it became is— Jared is one of his closest friends; he’s never not loved the guy, not since he met him. But that’s not what Chris is asking, and Jensen can’t get the answering word past his closed throat.

“Jen?”

“Yeah.” Barely a word at all.

“And it’s the get-into-his-pants love? The guy-I-tell-everything-to love? Or the best friend love?”

Jensen swallows. “All of the above.”

“Okay, then, easy. Tell him.”

It’s so frank that Jensen pulls the phone away from his ear and stares at it. “I— What?”

“Sit him down and tell him.”

No. Just, oh god, that might be the scariest thing anyone has ever said to him, scarier than Jack fucking Nicholson, and _Jensen doesn’t even know how that’s possible_. “I… What the fuck? I can’t do that! I can’t just—”

Chris cuts him off. “Dude, shut up. You love the guy? Then say so! Listen, I don’t see what's so hard about all this.”

There is no way to explain the seizing in Jensen’s chest, the drop-off that he can suddenly see straight ahead of him. “It’s not that fucking simple, Chris! If…” He finds a thread that makes sense and follows it. “If I told you I was in love with you, how would you react?”

Chris pauses. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t push you away, or call you a freak like you seem to be afraid of.”

That’s it. In a nutshell. Jensen can’t bear the thought of Jared listening and then turning away from him for good. It’s staggering how much the idea floors him. Cuts his legs right out from under him. He hadn’t even been able to put it into words, but Chris…

Fucking Chris. He always was a good lyric writer.

“Chris, I don’t think I know how,” he says, finally. Hushed because everything’s just too loud.

“You need to talk to him the way you always have talked to him. Alright?”

Jensen scoffs and feels his eyes sting again. “Oh yeah, because it’s not like this time I have this huge-ass issue that—”

“Jenny, bear with me, it makes sense. Now listen.” Chris pauses to make sure Jensen follows his order. “He’s not going to hurt you over this. He’s not that guy, and you know that, but you’re not in the greatest of places right now mentally. Okay?”

Jensen nods. “Yeah.”

“So this is when you have to trust me. How long have we been friends?”

“Feels like forever.” And forever feels good at the moment.

“Then listen to me. Go out on a limb here, make that leap of faith, Jen. Tell him what this is really about because otherwise he’ll think this is about him fucking up. And I know you don’t want him to think that.”

It’s the last thing Jensen wants Jared thinking.

Chris continues. “You are not losing this friendship over this, you hear me? Whatever else happens, that’s not on your list. But you will lose it if you aren’t honest with him.”

“Thanks, Chris.” His own voice sounds like it’s made of glass. Cracked glass. “I… Really.”

Chris makes an approving sound over the phone. “Welcome.” And then he inhales and groans. “Someone has to save you from melting into a big fat wimpy puddle of hormones.”

Jensen feels his lips twitch. “Hey, Chris, remember that time in Leverage when Eliot got clobbered by a bunch of prep school girls wearing khaki?”

“Screw you, pretty boy. Those kids were bad-ass.”

**

They have a long weekend coming up because of some mistake that requires a major set overhaul, and Jensen decides that that’s the time. But he’s still got two days till Friday, and he’s crawling out of his skin trying not to think about it while simultaneously drafting a monologue for himself. Tough to manage. He’s coming up with jack shit anyway.

Because he’s not throwing some movie BS at his friend. At someone he loves. He’s just not.

Harley’s onto him. Dog’s got a fucking ninth sense that tells him _Oh shit! There’s suffering in this house! MAYDAY!_ He might even be auditioning to become Jensen’s conjoined canine twin at this point. The only time Harley lets him out of his sight is when Jared takes him running, or Jensen’s climbing in the shower, and that last one’s really not by Harley’s choice.

Jensen sits on the couch with Sadie at his feet (Sadie, who knows all his drama too, but has already made her mopey opinion abundantly clear) and Harley beside him. He strokes Harley’s ears.

“Guys, you know Jared pretty well. What’s the best way to drop this kind of bomb?”

Harley sighs one of those big body-sighs and looks up at Jensen like he’s just learned that dog food has been banned by NATO. Sadie yawns and curls until she can hide her nose in her flank.

“Come on, you can tell me. I promise I won’t use the knowledge for evil.”

Harley mouths his hand and then holds it there like a favored chew toy. Jensen sighs and drops his head back against the couch.

**

He decides to worry about the smaller problem instead: getting Jared in one place while Jensen is in that same place. The couch, he figures; it’s comfy and it’s neutral territory, and if Jared sits down first, then Jensen can just… sit down, too. And Jared will feel bad about moving afterward. Because he’s Jared, and he’s like that, and Jensen knows him.

The fact that Jensen knows this and doesn’t even question it is a big clue that Chris is right: it’s past time he tackled this. He just wishes he knew what he was going to say.

He’s careful not to clean up the table or put leftover food away from dinner. The last thing he wants is Jared hightailing it to a Jensen-free space again. And if he can do this, just say it all and get this horrible ache out of the way, then extra scrubbing of food-caked dishes will be worth it. Even if it all just gives way to a new ache, he’s _tired_ of feeling like this around Jared. Like he’s a terrible friend. Like he no longer makes Jared feel good when they’re together. Like Jared can elicit nothing but this pain inside him.

That’s not what they are. Jensen refuses to go there.

It’s tricky. A little dishonest. But Jensen heads down the hall to his room anyway and goes in, then stands inside the doorway, waiting for the flumping sound of Jared sitting down on the couch. Safe space. Fuck. Jensen massages his eyes with his fingers. This is nothing but a damn ambush, but he doesn’t have room for any more guilt.

He almost doesn’t hear Jared sit down anyway because he’s become so fucking used to it. As soon as the sound registers, accompanied by what sounds like a sigh, Jensen opens his eyes. He stares at the door for a moment, then makes himself move before he thinks better of it.

The look on Jared’s face when he walks back into the living room is close enough to a recoil that Jensen is simultaneously glad he did this and sorely disappointed in himself. He sits down on the other end of the couch before Jared can get to his feet. Tries to spread out a little, get comfortable. Jared hasn’t moved. The remotes are all on the mantel, out of reach. Jared’s hand twitches once on the armrest, and Jensen sucks in a breath.

“I need to tell you something, Jared.”

Jared doesn’t answer, but he’s tense. Jensen has no idea when he got so good at reading his friend’s body language _while not even looking at him properly_. But he has. Jensen picks at the hem of his jeans. His mind is an utter blank: a goal in sight, but no path to get there.

So he just speaks. And the words come.

“A lot of things, actually.” He clears his throat without needing to. “The first one is that you didn’t… do anything. You didn’t.”

Jared lets out a sound, but Jensen can’t tell what it means. He looks over at Jared and finds him gazing straight ahead. His profile is totally frozen, like a statue’s.

“Jared? I mean it.”

Jared moves, a spastic shift of muscles. “Fine,” he mutters.

Jensen’s head starts to hurt. He wants to bend over, rest his forehead in his hands and rub it away. He doesn’t. “Another thing is that I’m sorry you found my… The housing sections. Like that. I feel incredibly bad about that.”

Jared doesn’t move for a long moment, and then he nods. Some of the tension goes out of his frame, but not all of it. “Serves me right. Shouldn’t have been in your room.”

“No, it doesn’t serve you right,” Jensen says quickly, amazed at how fierce he suddenly feels, how angry he is at himself all over again. Jared looks at him, surprised, and Jensen makes himself hold Jared’s gaze. “I never meant to make you feel like that, man. God, never. Don’t excuse this.”

Jared is the one who looks away. He nods again. “Apology accepted.”

Yeah. Maybe when Jensen actually deserves it. He grimaces, shakes himself. “I need to explain why I even had those listings.”

“No. You don’t.” Jared pulls himself upright, his back ramrod straight. “Jen, I told you in the beginning, if you ever wanted to leave—”

“I don’t want to leave!”

Hoo boy. Smooth. Now Jared’s looking at him like he’s missed something crucial, because he has, because Jensen isn’t telling the story right. But he doesn’t have the faintest clue how to tell a story like this. Well. No time like the present to get to the meaty stuff. He gives himself leeway enough to avoid Jared’s gaze; doesn’t think he can manage to look him in the eye while taking his heart out and holding it there in the open. “Look, Jared. I don’t want to leave. I love living here. But… Something’s changed, something kind of big. And it worries me.”

Silence, and then, “Not something I did,” from Jared.

“No.” Jensen sighs and straightens up. “God, no. Something I did.”

Jared still looks confused out of the corner of Jensen’s eye, but it’s a waiting kind of confused, not a hurting kind. Or at least, not as much a hurting kind anymore. Jared will wait for him now, and Jensen knows for certain that he won’t be leaving this room until he’s made his declaration. It’s a frightening thought. In a minute or two (or ten if he descends back into coward mode), this, them… It’s going to change.

The worst part is not being able to see what it will change into.

Jensen sets his jaw and goes for the final stretch. “Look, the reason I had those listings is because I feel like I might need to move out. To keep myself sane, and not because of you, not because you’re making me insane or— I don’t want to leave. I really don’t. This is the best living situation I’ve had in years, and most of that is _because_ of you.”

Every time he approaches the real subject, his tongue just skirts neatly around the words. It’s driving him crazy.

Jared opens his mouth, but Jensen stops him with a lifted hand. If Jared says anything between here and the finish line, Jensen’s going to trip and fall, and not finish. “Jared, I need to move out because my feelings for you have changed.”

There. Out. Jensen feels a little numb. Jared hasn’t moved. And maybe it’s not all out, but Jensen isn’t sure he can force much more.

Until Jared says, in a low voice, “Changed how?”

Like he already knows. Like he’s just waiting for that last knell. Jensen wets his lips. All or nothing now. “Changed, as in I’m falling for you.”

Not quite the truth: Jensen’s already fallen. Completely. But it’s enough. Jared goes absolutely still.

Jensen wonders what the next sound will be. He feels detached, from the room, from his own words. From Jared. If it’s a question, what will Jared ask? Will it be an observation? _I had no idea you were…_

Fuck. As if Jensen could even begin unraveling that knot. An unbidden image of himself stating his sexuality over and over in the mirror pops into his head, but instead of shocking him all over again, it just saunters by. It’s already been bumped off the Most Definitive Life Moments list by this.

It’s quiet for a long time. Maybe he should be looking at Jared now, but he can’t make himself do it. He’s still got things to say, messes and misunderstandings to sort through, and trying to ascertain Jared’s reaction to all this just by studying his face does not sound fun.

“That’s why I was looking for a place,” he says finally. The words crack, too sudden in the silence. He wishes he hadn’t spoken, but that was the whole problem anyway, according to Misha and Chris, and how the hell is he capable of thinking about them in the middle of this?

But Jared’s still not speaking. Not moving either, so that’s… something. Maybe. Jensen should just go on, get everything that’s boiling inside out there, except it’s all mushed up again, no good starting point, but then—

“Since when, Jen?”

It’s so soft, _so_ soft. No judgment, no assumption, just a simple _explain it to me_. The guilt comes back anyway.

“You have every right to be furious with me for doing this, Jared,” Jensen manages. He does look at Jared then, and Jared is looking back at him like Jensen’s turned his head around backwards. He hurries to correct himself. “No, I just mean that… I haven’t been acting like a good friend. I’m sorry for that.”

Jared nods slowly. Jensen can hear him inhale. Jared leans forward, resting his arms on his thighs. “So… How long?”

Jensen decides to just start at the beginning. He leaves out a lot of detail because Jared was there, and most of it doesn’t even matter until the second night with Misha at the bar, after which Jensen’s neatly organized world fell on its ass and couldn’t get up again. “He said… He mentioned that it wasn’t right, being teased about something true, and how it was his fault for pushing it all to the forefront in the first place. And it wasn’t true, not then. At least, I don’t think— but he said it was true for you.” Jared shifts, and Jensen hurries on. “Not that I thought you were really… with me. It just kind of made me think. You know?”

Jared keeps quiet, so Jensen goes through the abridged version of his realization, trying not to let on just how many outsiders he’s discussed this very private epiphany with.

“Completely turned me over, man,” he mutters, more to his hands than to Jared. “I didn’t know what to do with it. With myself. And then I didn’t know what to do with you, and… I messed up. But believe me, none of this is your fault, and the last thing I want you to do is think that you did something.”

At that moment, Harley wanders into the room, reminding him all over again how fucking much he doesn’t want to leave, and Jensen has to stop talking.

He can feel Jared’s eyes on him. Jensen swallows. He is going to finish. He is.

“Look,” he exhales. “I don’t want to go. But under the circumstances, I don’t think I can stay. What I want most is not to destroy our friendship. So I had to tell you about this. Lay it all out.”

The thing is, he doesn’t think this will destroy their friendship. But it will change it. Already has, irrevocably. It scares him how much he stands to lose, and that only half of it is under his control.

“Thank you,” Jared says quietly. Jensen nods and runs a hand through his hair. He’s not sure how he feels. Numb. Empty, maybe. He knows none of this has hit him yet, and he’s just fine with that. He just wants to not feel the ache anymore.

After a few minutes, Jensen stands. “Okay. Been a… really long day.”

He’s about to offer beer, candy, video games, whatever the hell falls off his tongue first, when Jared looks up at him from the couch.

“Think I need to just… think about this, Jen.” Jared’s throat works. “Just get it all straight in my head. Okay?”

The look in his eyes is pleading. Jensen can see the out for what it is and decides he’ll take it. He’s too wrung out to do anything else. He nods, making sure he meets Jared’s gaze. “Take your time, man.”

Jensen goes into the kitchen and cleans up after their dinner, setting plates to soak. It’s only a minute or two before he’s padding down the hall, past the living room to his bedroom for the night.

**

He’s not going to sleep. It’s been three hours, the house has long since gone dark and silent, and Jensen’s still lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling. He can’t be bothered to be anxious. It’s like the capacity for emotion has been stripped from him. He feels exhausted deep inside, but his body will not settle, not enough to sleep, anyway.

He does wonder what Jared is thinking. If he’s having any success with working through it all.

It should feel more monumental than this, confessing love for his friend, and Jensen’s sure it will later, once it all really comes home and digs in. But logic feels surreal here in the dark, hidden away by all the shadows in the room.

The door creaks and Jensen turns his head. Jared’s standing just on the threshold.

“Jensen. You awake?” he whispers.

“Yeah.” His voice comes out rough, like he hasn’t been using it lately, and that’s a damn lie. He clears his throat.

Jared remains where he is. He gestures out into the black void that is the hall. “Tried to sleep, but…”

Jensen nods.

Jared comes into the room and stops, an even cessation of movement. He’s all in shadow except for across his stomach, the blinds carving stripes of light over his t-shirt. Jared doesn’t say anything, and Jensen doesn’t either. He just looks at Jared, not knowing the question or the answer, or anything, really. Just that Jared’s here and it’s dark, and he hasn’t slept at all, just like Jensen.

Jared lifts his hand. Gestures again. “Jen, can I…?”

Jensen waits, but nothing more comes. It feels like if either of them moves, the moment will snap apart. Jared’s fingers curl in slightly, hand still raised, and the moment does not snap. Jensen lets himself move.

“C’mere.” He flips the covers back, baring a corner of the sheets. Moves over to the far end of the bed.

Jared comes the rest of the way across the room and gets into bed, covering himself with the quilt. There’s a good body width between them. Jared turns on his side, facing him, and Jensen can already feel the new heat under the blankets.

Jared sighs and remains silent. He shuts his eyes, and Jensen thinks about turning his own back to the ceiling. It’s a long time before he does.

~tbc~


	3. Chapter 3

He wakes up to morning light glowing off the walls and a clock that reads 10:07. He finds he’s tucked himself onto one side, almost completely under the blankets. And he feels rested. He wasn’t expecting to sleep at all. His first real thought is to burrow until noon because it’s Saturday, but that’s only the first thought, and he takes a deep breath.

He wonders if Jared’s still in his bed. Honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if Jared had left. Man’s an early riser, and it’s all feeling a little dreamlike at the moment anyway.

But Jensen’s not nervous. He’s not feeling much of anything, except for this distinct lack of expectation. He turns over slowly and finds Jared stretched out on his back, looking up at the ceiling. His legs are bent up over a snoring Harley. Jensen becomes aware of Sadie’s curled weight at his feet.

Jared doesn’t say anything at first. His chest rises and falls steadily. Jensen watches him. Counts the times Jared blinks.

“It wasn’t about liking you like that.” Jared’s voice is a low rumble. His hand lifts, moves like they’ve been talking for the past hour. “Just a joke. Because we do that.”

Jensen nods, feeling less sheltered than he’d like, even though Jared is on top of the blankets now and Jensen is under them. He wonders how he’s going to feel in five minutes. Ten minutes. Half an hour.

“You opened it up for me so easily.” There’s humor somewhere in Jared’s words. Jensen recalls his exact flub and shuts his eyes for a second. It’s startling how pungent that embarrassment still is, even after all this time. Jared’s lip curls up a little and settles again. “Should have known better than to give Misha such good cannon fodder.”

Oh, Jensen is well aware of that. If wishes were time machines, he’d so be back there correcting that little faux pas.

Or maybe not. Without it—

“And I don’t know,” Jared sighs, rolling his shoulders, “I just didn’t want to let it go. You have no idea how you— how much I almost… thrive off of your reactions to my jokes.”

Jensen can’t help smiling. “Feeding off my pain. Only to be expected.”

Jared turns his head sideways and meets Jensen’s eyes. “That’s not what I mean. The energy I put into that joke had everything to do with the way you first reacted. I don’t really know how to describe it. Every time you laughed, or sniped back or, or whatever. It just made me want to make you laugh or snipe more.” He rubs his face with one hand. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s an addiction. I’ve had it for a while, I guess.”

Jensen thinks about it. “There are worse addictions. I do like to laugh.”

“And snipe.” Jared’s smiling again.

“And snipe.”

The smile disappears. Jensen watches Jared draw a deep breath. He looks older than he did a second ago. It’s not a pleasant discovery.

“I never know when to stop, though,” Jared mutters. “Just keep beating that dead horse.”

Jensen’s mostly sure of what Jared means, but it feels like he’s missing some fundamental pieces, so he just waits. It hits him all over again that Jared’s lying in his fucking _bed_. After finding out how Jensen feels. It should matter more than this, be a little bit more unsettling. Earth-shaking. Something. It’s not, though.

“Didn’t mean for it to go where it did.” Jared’s eyes are trained on the ceiling again. “I just… I was having so much fun with it, and _you_ were having fun with it, and everyone else was, too. You know I watch the gag reels? Fucking hilarious, man. I watch them more often than I watch the show, and not just because they’re funny. I do it because they’re us. You and me, acting like total jackasses. Having the time of our lives.”

He goes silent, then shrugs. “I never thought it had gotten out of hand until that day with Meatloaf, and it just hit me, what I was doing.”

Jensen really is curious about what the specific trigger was, that catalyst that shot everything to… well, not to hell, but yeah. He can’t help himself. “What hit you, exactly?”

Jared’s mouth bends, but it’s more melancholy than amused. “Dude, I don’t even know why. I mean, I knew you were gonna go there as soon as you started emphasizing certain words. I could see it coming, and it was fucking genius. Except then you pointed right at me, and you said… And I don’t know. Not sure why it hit me like it did.”

Jensen remembers pointing, saying what he said. His heart speeds up a little.

Jared continues. “You know how Chad’s always saying you should picture jokes? To make them funnier. More real.”

Jensen nods.

“Well, I pictured that. Not, you know.” He blushes. “But you. Not able to stomach me. For whatever reason. I swear, it wasn’t a sexual thing, even with the lyrics and all that. God, I’m not explaining this right.” Jared screws up his forehead. “I just suddenly thought about how close I was to it. Like, what if that was your warning? You know. Back off. Enough.”

Jensen feels like such an ass. “Fucking hell,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Misha was right about that, too.”

“Misha?”

“Yeah, he—” Jensen makes the mistake of meeting Jared’s eyes again and stutters. “Um. Said I hurt your feelings with that.”

Jared looks at him for another second. “You didn’t really hurt me,” he hedges, tone thoughtful. “Just…”

Jared’s face pinches. Jensen lifts his head. “What?”

Jared clears his throat. “Nothing. Like you said. Made me think.”

“About?” He’s trying not to swallow because Jared will see it. He’s not sure why that’s such a big deal, but it is.

Jared’s chin dips like it does when he’s embarrassed. “Jen, I like being around you. Didn’t want to be that pushy guy.”

“What?”

“It just suddenly occurred to me that…” Jared sighs. “That you were pushing back and you might not appreciate having me all over you. Like I am.”

“No, that’s—” Jensen’s denying it before he even thinks. It’s instinctive; his entire body knows how wrong that statement is. He kneads his eyes again. “Jared. If anything, I went crazy trying to figure out why you weren’t touching me anymore.”

Jared goes quiet and Jensen feels the shift when he shrugs. “Still.”

He looks over, right at Jared. “I don’t mind it, man. Really.”

He gets a fleeting smile. “Thought that’s why you were moving out.”

 _“What?”_ Jensen struggles to sit up and gets as far as leaning on his elbows. “No! No, that had nothing— Never had anything—”

“I know,” Jared murmurs.

Jensen relaxes onto the bed again. Shit, feels like he pulled a muscle there. “Ow.”

“Ow?”

Jensen winces. “Think I fucking broke something.”

“Really hoping you’re not serious, Jen.”

Jensen groans and shakes his head, and that doesn’t hurt so he takes it as a good sign. Jared’s hand works its way between Jensen’s neck and the pillow. He starts rubbing Jensen’s nape. Feels damn good. More so because Jared’s touching him again.

“I don’t really know what started,” Jared says quietly. “That day. Something did. I just know that I didn’t like the idea of you pulling away from me. Scared me, more than I was expecting, and it kept… kept on scaring me. And then I went into your room, and— God. I thought that was it, that I’d finally…”

He trails off. Jensen’s glad of the shared bed, the warm sunlight and their proximity. It feels like he _has_ to have Jared close. The less space between them while they’re this fragile, the better.

“Jared.” Jensen licks his lips, trying to find the right words. “I wouldn’t do that. I won’t do that. Pull away from you like that. If I have a problem, you’ll know. I promise.”

There’s nothing accusatory in Jared’s eyes, but Jensen feels the guilt anyway. “I mean, I did already, I know that. But that wasn’t about— It wasn’t you being clingy or whatever, it was about—” Yeah, for some reason, he’s really not ready to rehash all of that at the moment. Getting it out once took all the stored up energy he had and the idea of doing it again feels insurmountable. “Jared, I don’t want to bust up what we have. I never wanted that. I can’t see myself wanting that, ever. It took me too long to get round to fixing it this time, but… you and me? This?”

He gestures at the room and means the whole house. The dogs. The cars and the video games and the Winchester brothers, the way their sisters call each other just to shoot the shit and trade blackmail ammunition. Their parents, the fact that Chad and Chris actually get along, the way Jensen can confess his deepest and darkest, and Jared still doesn’t look at him like he’s changed. Him and Jared. “I will do anything to keep what we’ve got. I mean it. Do you…You get what I’m saying?”

 _I’ll step back. I’ll put this aside and be me, so you can be you and we can be us._ He doesn’t know how, but he’ll do it. He’ll give it the best damn shot he’s got.

Jared returns his gaze and doesn’t say a word. Somehow Jensen knows Jared understands.

**

They go for a run, them and the dogs. It’s a little too hot, too late in the morning. Even Jared only makes half his usual circuit. Jensen’s soaking by the time it’s over, Jared’s hair is plastered to his forehead and neck, and the dogs have adopted that glazed look they get at the height of summer, tongues lolling permanently out of their mouths like fishing lures. It’s miserable and hellish, and it hurts.

It’s also still Saturday, a whole two days with only each other for company, and Jared hasn’t put any distance between them. Jensen can’t remember feeling more relieved than he does now.

**

The first thing Jared does when they get back to set on Tuesday is tackle Misha.

Well, actually, the first thing Jared does, presumably, is get up. Jensen’s not sure; he’s still asleep when that idiocy happens. See, Jensen has this life rule, developed long ago in high school, sophomore year, the one and only time he tried competitive swimming on for size. He figured, yeah, girls in Speedos, ripped swimmer’s shoulders to gloat about in front of Josh, and the possibility of getting an actual, honest-to-goodness tan instead of turning into another giant spotty tomato.

The reality went like this: he fell out of bed for morning practice, stumbled into the locker room, into his swimsuit and cap and goggles, and finally out to the pool… and realized he could see the moon reflected in it.

That was just _fucking wrong_.

So. Jared gets up or something. Then, when it’s slightly lighter, Jensen surfaces from sleep into relative sanity, reminding himself that he’s got money to earn. Blah blah clothing blah breakfast _blah_ , and they’re halfway to set before Jensen remembers that, holy shit, he and Jared are on totally different footing now than they were the last time they were on set.

Jared hasn’t said a word about it. Jensen wonders if he should be taking this silence more seriously until he looks in the rearview mirror and sees that, to all outward appearances, he’s still mostly asleep. That might be why Jared’s not talking to him.

Okay, then. The not-exactly-first thing Jared does on Tuesday when they get to set (which is when the sky is no longer blacker than tar, thank you very much) is grab hold of Misha. Who looks fucking alert and able to adapt to anything, seeing as he manages to keep hold of both his tea and his croissant, even while dangling off the ground in Jared’s grip. Jensen doesn’t get it. He likes to think he’s open-minded, but morning people are _a bunch of aliens_.

But then, the whole Jared hugging Misha thing. It settles something big in Jensen’s chest; he’s not sure what it was that needed settling, but there it goes. He’s so used to Jared pulling his punches around him that it’s shocking to see him glomping all over other people again. People who he probably never stopped glomping, actually. So, no difference. Why that makes Jensen feel better doesn’t make sense, but he’s choosing not to care until at least ten o’clock.

Phil drops them right into a scene and they work their asses off for several hours, which has the benefit of waking Jensen up to all sorts of facts: one, he must be a frikkin’ professional now because he remembers all of these lines, even with his crazy near-apocalypse over the weekend; two, Eric was right when he said they’ve already done the really taxing stuff and everyone’s pretty relaxed; and three, Jensen is now pulling _his_ punches around Jared.

Not within the scenes. At least, no one’s said anything. But Jared makes Jensen’s limbs feel heavy. Noticeable. He counts four instances wherein he lifts his hand to clap Jared on the back and fails. His body thinks better of it, jerks his arm back into place at his side, and Jensen is left blinking, tugged straight out the good mood of a moment before.

The day goes on and Jensen’s list of stilted movements grows.

Jared hugs Jim. Jensen’s list grows.

Jared hugs Sera. Jensen’s list grows.

Jared hugs Misha again. Misha is starting to look a little spooked.

Jared’s completely huggy in general, and that’s all well and good. But Jensen may have confessed his love a little bit this past weekend and hugging might not allowed for him anymore. He can damn well hear how stupid that thought is. The logical half of his brain is scoffing at the very idea of not being worthy of Jared-hugs.

Then again, Jared has yet to hug him.

Phil calls a halt and directs Jensen to new marks, reasoning through Dean’s motivation out loud. Apparently, Dean is highly motivated to sling an arm around his brother’s shoulder at this point and Phil asks if Jensen concurs. He usually concurs with Phil, and the embrace does make a lot of sense, considering that Sam just forced a laugh around his fear of Dean’s probable death-by-angel. So that’s no biggie.

Jensen starts the scene again, throws his arm around Jared as best he can and gives him a brotherly shake, promising that Dean will still be around when the time comes to hide Sam’s dentures in the toilet tank. Phil calls it a job well done, but when Jensen turns, Jared’s eyes are on him. Jensen’s seen him attack the Rubix cube Clif keeps in the car with that exact same expression.

The next step in the scene is an oldie-but-goodie: getting into the Impala to drive majestically over a hill into the end credits. Jensen reaches out to open his door, and there’s this vicious crack, and, okay, he’s still got the handle, but the door didn’t exactly come with it.

“Oh, _that’s_ no good,” he mourns, peeking around for witnesses, of which there are many. Misha snorts into laughter and so does Jim, but the loudest sound is from Jared, who fakes a shriek, races around the car, and wraps Jensen in a bear hug from behind.

And rocks him.

“Poor baby,” Jared moans, chin resting on the top of Jensen’s head.

“Poor _baby_ ,” Jensen sighs, gesturing at the Impala as best he can with his arms trapped. Jared rocks him harder and Phil calls cut.

When Jared does pull back, it isn’t until after he gives Jensen a squeeze. No words, but Jensen understands. He’s allowed to touch. What’s more, by golly, Jared’s going to touch _him_ , whether Jensen returns the favor or not.

 _I am so incredibly lucky to have this._ Jensen doesn’t think he truly knew the scope of it until now. No matter what he said this weekend, no matter how uncomfortable it might have made the two of them, Jared’s not letting go of their friendship. God, how special, how unique, is this guy? Jared knows the depth of Jensen’s feelings for him, and he’s not slamming up any new walls. Rather, he’s jumping back in, full throttle, reminding Jensen that how they felt about each other before hasn’t gone away, not one teeny tiny bit.

Being held by the one he loves doesn’t feel much different. There should be nervousness, right? Nausea or maybe dizziness. But being held by Jared just feels even better now. The crew’s laughing, Jim and Phil look resigned and fond at the same time, and Misha’s being Misha. All is well. Jensen’s pretty sure he can’t put an explanation into words.

He also has this strange sense that Jared will teach him about his luck all over again in the future.

**

Lunchtime, and Jensen’s respectably hungry. It’s been a while since he felt like eating a full meal. God should have told people that the stomach is also a repository for extra stress and emo angst, so starving without realizing it is a possibility during unfavorable times.

Suddenly Jared’s sitting right next to him. Jensen startles, but Jared just takes a drink from the water bottle he’s got and wipes his mouth.

“Don’t think I told you this,” he says. There’s a very faint curve to his lips. “I want to say thanks. For, you know. Telling me what you told me.”

Jensen has no idea what to say to that. He can’t even look at Jared right now. Fuck, he’s blushing.

“I’ll come with you,” Jared says after a moment. He squints at something across the set. “If you still want to look for a place.”

“I…” It’s right there, awkward and in front of them, and Jared’s smiling at him. Hesitantly. Offering to help Jensen out of his house and his immediate vicinity if that’s what Jensen needs.

“I mean,” Jared continues, this time a little rushed, “I’m not kicking you out. I don’t want that. But if you feel like— I just mean I’ll help.”

It’s so much, flooding his chest, pressing with each beat of his heart. Jensen has to swallow, to catch it all up and force it under his control, just _how much_ he feels for this man, how deeply he’s in—

After everything, he still stumbles over the knowledge.

Jensen shakes his head. “I don’t know yet, man. Kinda… tangled up in it all.”

Jared’s fingers brush his arm. “Just…” He tilts his head, studying Jensen. “However long you need, Jensen. Take it.”

Jensen looks away again. “You don’t mind?” _The weirdness, the new pet elephant in the living room threatening to trample your dogs?_

“Jen…” Jared sighs, long and slow. “I just want us to figure this out. No ultimatums right now, I promise.”

**

Which begs the question: Should there be ultimatums?

Does Jared eventually want to give him one?

**

“If you _want_ to de _stroy_ my sweater!”

 _“Whoa-oh-whoa-oh-whoa!”_

“Hold this thread as I walk away!”

 _“As I walk awa-aaay!”_

“Watch me unravel—”

“I’ll soon be _nekkid!_ ”

“Dude, Jared, it’s naked. Not nekkid. Sheesh.”

 _“Lyin’ on the floor! Lyin’ on the—”_

 _“Owoooooooooooooooh!”_

“Sadie, that’s not part of the song, honey.”

“Dude, who says?”

“Weezer, that’s who. Ingrate.”

Naturally, it ends in a throw pillow fight. With pouncing mutts.

**

Before the end of the week, Jensen gets a voice message from Chris that consists of “So, Jenny, wedding bells? Am I eligible for Best Man again?” And then a fuckload of cackling.

Jensen can see why Chris and Jared enjoy each other’s company.

He leaves a friendly message telling Chris exactly what shade of magenta his eighties-style groomsmaid dress will be, and to kindly get stuffed.

**

On the Monday a week after his confession, Jensen stumbles right out of the shock he hadn’t even known he was in. In retrospect, it must have been relief from when he threw his soul out there and Jared didn’t hustle him right out of the house. Comfortable. Manageable.

 _Well_. Not anymore.

They’re at the dog park at twilight and there are tons of four-legged twerps running around pretending they aren’t the spawn of all evil during their normal day jobs. Jared tears up the hill after Harley, slips (probably in dog poop, ha), and falls on his face. Never one to let a good opportunity go by, Harley wheels around and leaps on Jared with obvious intent to lick him to death. Jensen’s way down at the water spigot with a thirsty Sadie, but Jared’s laughing, so there’s no need to call an ambulance, thank the lord. In fact, Jared and Harley are making enough of a scene that random innocent people are breaking out into giggles all around the park. The closest of them is a young woman with a German Shepherd puppy in tow. The puppy is insidiously cute. His legs are so long that he trips every fourth step, and his ears aren’t quite upright yet, they’re more flopped inward like some bizarre conical hat. Every time his tail wags in the company of smaller dogs, he knocks them over. Jensen is so entertained with watching the puppy try to eat Harley’s ear that it takes him several seconds to realize that the puppy’s owner is helping Jared to his feet. Clutching his arm to keep them both upright. Laughing.

Jensen growls in warning.

Well, Jensen doesn’t really growl, Sadie does, because little dogs clambering for her water psych her out. But that’s the sound Jensen would have made if he’d been as articulate as she is.

Instead, Jensen turns into a five-year-old. That’s _his_ Jared. He proclaimed his love first, and that woman shouldn’t be touching Jared while owning adorable puppies that make it impossible to hate her. It’s so unfair.

Reality checks back in when the water bowl he’s been filling overflows all over his flip-flops. Jensen curses and leaps aside, which makes Sadie pounce on the bowl with a bark, which pings Harley’s radar, and just as Jensen is figuring out that, holy fuck, this fantastic understanding he still has with Jared is not going to be nearly enough, he gets covered in muddy Harley-prints.

Jensen scrambles to stay upright and then to shut the hose off. Luckily he’s not the one who made that big mud puddle in the first place, because smaller, whiter dogs have discovered that slop is super fun, and Jensen has no intention of going deaf because irate owners have started yelling.

Also, he’s pretty sure he just thought of Jared as his property, and that’s sort of seriously frowned upon nowadays. Hell, Jensen seriously frowns upon it. This is not a good development.

He hears laughter and raises his head to find Jared guffawing at him. Because that’s what Jared does when Jensen acts like a nincompoop. He throws his head back and claps, baring his throat to the waning sunlight, just lighting up.

“Can’t take you anywhere!” Jared calls, and Jensen wants him _so badly_ he chokes.

A brand new shock wipes it away in the next second, leaving Jensen winded and worried.

**

Because Jared naked in Jensen’s bed? It’s still an alien thought. But Jared naked in anyone else’s bed? Oh, _hell_ no. Jensen will commit murder first.

**

Strangely, his mother doesn’t seem to think he’s turned into a monster.

“Honey, I think you’re just jealous.”

Jensen flails because his mom can’t see him. “It doesn’t matter! I can’t be acting like I own him! That’s a one-way train ride to crazy!”

“Jensen, stop waving your arms around.”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Now, listen. You’ve got to take these things slowly. Give him time. Give yourself time, okay? And for goodness’ sake, sweetheart, stop panicking. You’re going to give yourself a hernia.”

Jensen grimaces and counts to ten. He remembers to breathe at four and then he actually does feel better. “I just— Mom, I don’t think I’ve ever had a reaction quite like this. To anyone.”

He’s really nervous about what all this means. The gravity of how Jared makes him feel is fucking astronomical, like some doomsday machine clicking over into stage two. Jensen thought he knew himself pretty well, but this feels like something foreign woke up in his innards and started asserting its right to bodily ownership. With claws.

No, it isn’t an archangel, thanks.

“Jensen, it’s okay to react. You’ve had a little bit of a shock over the past two weeks. It doesn’t make you a… How did you put it? Oh, yes, ‘a possessive freak show on wheels.’”

Jensen cringes. Not his best analogy.

“Hang in there, honey. It’s all going to work out. And if it doesn’t, you have a standing invitation to come home, alright? Anytime.”

“Thanks, Mama.” Jensen takes a deep breath. “How’s Dad taking it?”

She hesitates a little too long. “Still working around to telling him, sweetie. Work’s been wild, Josh got that promotion, and Mackenzie failed an exam in her Psychiatry seminar.”

She doesn’t have to explain. Jensen already emailed his congratulations to his brother, and he remembers Mackenzie-shaped explosions from when she was in middle school. Grad school can’t be much different. His mother continues. “Soon, Jensen, I promise. I’ll sit him down and we’ll talk.”

“Should I… Should I be there?”

“Up to you, honey.”

Jensen sighs and commits. “Tell me when.”

**

On Friday morning at godawful o’clock, Jensen’s father officially disowns him.

It’s dark and stormy out. Mac bawls as she staggers her way up the stairs. His mother wrings her hands silently in the corner of the dining room, and Jensen stares in disbelief across the table as his father waves his arms and screeches, “No son of _mine_ is a blaspheming dill-sexual!”

That’s definitely a yelp there when Jensen wakes up and flings himself out of bed. Holy _shit_ , that’s the floor. The very hard floor. He blinks and grabs for something to protect himself. He’s in his bedroom in Jared’s house in Vancouver, and it is indeed thundering outside, but that ain’t no Texas storm. Jensen scrubs his face as the dream replays in his head.

Blaspheming dill-sexual? His mother is going to cause every one of his ulcers all by herself.

The oblivion of sleep would be awesome, but the damage is done. Now all Jensen can see is his father stomping around, ranting about the godlessness of pickles. Surely it’s not too early for a call home.

He gets halfway through the number before he remembers that he’ll have to explain why he’s so upset. About has-been cucumbers. To his mother, after he finally assures her that he’s not in the hospital or stuck in a storm drain or something.

It’s a relief to own so many video games. And liquor. Jensen pours himself a finger of scotch in the kitchen to take the edge off and heads down the hall to the living room, half-expecting his dad to explode out of the hall closet waving more anti-pickle propaganda. Jensen wishes he could blame this on acid or something, because then he could quit, but no: this is, honest to god, the natural state of his brain at two in the morning.

He plops down on the couch for some quality Halo time. The dream recedes gradually, and by the time he’s been killed twice, he’s pretty much gotten over it.

Footsteps descend the stairs and Jensen looks up as Jared enters the room, squinty-eyed and scratching his head. He doesn’t even break stride as he turns toward the couch and flops down beside Jensen.

“’Lo,” Jared mumbles. He kicks his feet up, turns on his side, and uses Jensen’s thigh as a pillow, plumping it with one hand and yawning. Jensen’s fingers stall on the controls. He gets shanked onscreen while watching Jared settle himself into his lap. Jared’s brow creases, lips puckering in the light of the TV. He reaches up and punches at Jensen’s controller until he manages to hit the restart.

Then he falls asleep.

Jared snores a little. Jensen’s never noticed until now. It’s more like breathing really nasally, and eventually, Jensen’s own breathing slows to match Jared’s.

**

He wakes up to discover that Jared has rearranged him on the couch. He’s lying pretty normally now, legs at one end, head on a pillow at the other, and there’s a blanket over him. Jared’s not there, but Jensen can _feel_ his recent presence, like Jared has only just vacated his spot half on top of Jensen. There’s heat seeping away from Jensen’s right side, and he wonders if Jared’s departure is what woke him up.

He can’t hear anything in the rest of the house. It’s light out; the dogs are out back, jingling their collars faintly. For all he knows, Jared is outside with them or upstairs asleep in bed again.

And maybe it’s the remnants of a dream, an inkling of imagination, but his body knows— knows— that he wasn’t alone on the couch. Jared was there, real or not. The pressure, the weight of him, was real.

Jensen’s arousal hits so quickly he hisses. He curls on his side and stares at the wall, mouth open, trying to think through it. But he can’t, not when all he can think about is lying stretched out on the couch, half under Jared, feeling the steady thump of Jared’s heartbeat against his chest. Hearing him breathe.

 _Feeling_ him breathe, like he’s breathing just for Jensen’s benefit.

He staggers to his feet and heads straight for his shower. The water is a cold blast of sobriety; Jensen leans under it with a hand against the wall, eyes wide. An even colder lump settles in his belly.

He may not have been keen on living with Jared while in love with him, but that pales next to living with Jared while wanting to strip him, toss him over the back of the couch, and fuck him blind. He’s pretty sure that Jared isn’t ready for Life-Altering Confession Number Two.

Jensen knows he wants more from Jared than sex. But he can’t deny that sex is part of it. Can’t believe Jared’s head in his lap didn’t set him off immediately the night before. He was tired then, but now he’s wide awake and well aware.

The need to get out is deeper this time, a pure, instinctual urge to survive, which he will not be able to do in the same house as Jared Padalecki. He wishes he could still ignore the fact that he’s got to get out of here.

**

He brings his real estate search out to the common areas because Jared’s told him where he stands on the issue and Jensen’s sure as hell not making the same mistake twice. Jared watches him over a bowl of Cheerios with sliced banana, but his expression is passive. After a minute, Jared snakes a hand out and shakes a page free of the newspaper.

“Apartments or houses?”

Jensen looks up at him, relieved to the core. “At this point, whatever looks good.”

Jared nods and begins perusing, a slight frown between his brows. Jensen returns to the listings on his laptop.

**

The first apartment they visit is nothing like the pictures online (the third ‘bedroom’ is a converted closet, the bathroom sink is crooked, and there’s a hole in the kitchen wall, half hidden by a hideous picture), and he knows that this is going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad process. He’s damn near ecstatic to get back home and chug a beer next to Jared on the couch while Harley deposits drool in his shoes for safekeeping.

**

Once he’s made the commitment to move out, though, his mood takes a downturn. There aren’t specific things that make him angry; everyone’s pretty chill on set, as usual. But now there _is_ an ultimatum, only he made it himself, so he’s just generally pissed off at things he wants but isn’t allowed to have.

Work’s fucking distracting. Jensen’s midway through a discussion with Eric Kripke over Dean’s current state of mental un-health, so of course, it’s the perfect time for disturbing thoughts. For example.

If Jared gets a significant other (and not just in the next ten minutes, but ever), Jensen honestly doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle it. He’s seen Jared’s bed. He’s seen Jared in Jared’s bed. He would be able to picture that other person in it. With Jared. At the same time. And moving out won’t magically make those pictures go away.

Kripke is gesturing emphatically when Jensen gets to the part where the people in Jared’s bed have no clothes on, and he breaks the handle off his coffee mug by setting it down too hard. Eric eyes him like he’s a particularly worrisome species of fangirl.

Jensen finds he has a lot of trouble being civil for the rest of the day.

**

“Nope.”Jared shakes his head and points at the back door. “No. Nuh-uh, you can’t get a house in this condition.”

Jensen squints as best he can, but Jared’s clearly high on something. “There’s nothing wrong with it, dude.”

Jared’s hands fly around his head. “That door frame is slanting! Eventually you’ll just have to call a carpenter and replace the whole door, and maybe even rebuild the wall!”

Jensen’s not convinced. It doesn’t look likely to happen, like, ever. He politely informs Jared that he’s full of shit.

Jared’s arm-waving grows even wilder. “The tub upstairs already needs to be re-caulked and the backyard needs landscaping and—”

“Jared—”

 _“Look.”_ Jared steps right up close to him, catching Jensen’s eyes in a stare he can’t bring himself to break. “I’m your best friend, right?”

“…Yeah.”

“And you brought me along to make sure there’s an unbiased opinion, right?”

Actually, Jensen brought Jared along because Jared offered to accompany him on his house-hunting safari, and maybe a little because he doesn’t have it in him to come up with activities that keep them apart at the moment. “Yeah.”

“Well,” Jared sniffs, lifting his chin. “I’d be remiss in my duties if I stood back and allowed you to purchase a home that will only cause dire stress and construction nightmares.”

“Yeah, but this is a rental.”

That detail seems to make no never mind to Jared.

Jared’s gotten a lot more vocal in the past week of house-hunting. At first he really was just a silent observer, hands stuffed in his pockets, lips pursed into a considering frown as he noted various attributes of the places they saw, and nodding to himself when something specific caught his attention. But now, as Jensen warms up to the idea of settling in these various places with his furniture and his movies and his scripts, shoes by the door, bed in the center of the master suite, toothbrush in the bathroom, Jared points out more and more flaws. He’s got a point: Jensen doesn’t want to slap down a ton of money and then turn right around and run to the home improvement warehouse. But slanting doorways? Re-caulking bathtubs? It’s all a little over the top.

He leads the way out of the (spacious) kitchen, down the (pristine) hallway to the (massive and inclusive of a window seat) living room, where the agent is waiting. He smiles at her weakly. “Hey, I don’t think this one’s quite right. Do you have any other places that are similar?”

**

Jared finds a loose board in the backyard fence of the chic little townhouse they see on Saturday.

**

Jared complains about the way the sliding door sticks in the split-level they visit on Sunday.

**

Jared just frowns in general the entire way through one of the vast homes they check out in the new development going up right outside the city.

**

When Jared starts in on the fact that the driveway to an old brownstone in his own neighborhood isn’t nearly big enough, Jensen finally snaps.

**

“I’m not coming with you anymore,” Jared says.

Jensen was all ready to scream Jared deaf the instant the front door slammed behind him. He had a scathing monologue scripted and everything. And now he just can’t, which is so not satisfying.

Jared stares up at him from where he’s flopped on the couch, and he looks… sad. Like he’s watching one of his favorite people in the world sink into tar right in front of him and he can’t do a thing about it.

“Dude,” Jensen sighs after a moment. “It’s fine. It’s…” It’s too late, is what it is: he’s a total sucker for unhappy Jared. “You like what you like.”

But Jared just shakes his head. His mouth twists into this little smile that isn’t positive. “No, you came clean with me, I owe you the same. Just don’t talk for a second. I can’t articulate when you’re all interrupty. I’m not as suave about this soul-baring thing as you.”

 _“Suave?”_ Jared’s got to be fucking blind if he thinks the last few months have showcased Jensen being suave.

“Don’t. Talk.” Jared jabs a finger at him with each word. Jensen thinks about it for a second— because how does Jared suddenly have the right to be angry and intimidating?— then decides to sit down. He’s not sure he’s going to like what he’s about to hear. This sounds like it’ll be The Response that Jared never gave him and Jensen is suddenly terrified of hearing it.

“I want to be a good friend here,” Jared begins, and takes a big breath. “But I can’t.”

Jensen waits.

And waits.

“Is that… it?” Yeah, so he’s timid. Because Jared’s huge and scary.

Jared shakes his head hard and Jensen clamps his mouth shut. And then Jared leans over and puts his head in his hands.

“Whoa.” Jensen half-stands, reaching for Jared. He cups his shoulder, desperate to figure out how he can ease this for him, if he even can, but Jared’s hand snaps out and latches around his wrist. Jensen stumbles a little and finds himself staring right into Jared’s eyes.

Jared’s mouth opens and shuts. He lets Jensen go. If Jensen weren’t still half on the couch, he would have fallen. Instead he sits back down, pulse thudding wildly.

“Look, I don’t want you to move,” Jared bursts out. He’s studying his hands as if they’re feeding him lines. “There’s nothing wrong with any of those places. I just want you here.”

This time Jensen stays quiet. It’s amazing and gravity-defying and scary all at once, what’s going on inside his chest right now. Jared clears his throat.

“I wanted more time to think. I thought it would be easy to figure out where I stand in all this, but I have no idea if… I meant it, though. When I said I wanted to help you. If you wanted out. But I really, really don’t mean it anymore. I’m a bad friend.”

“You really aren’t,” Jensen murmurs, because he can’t listen to Jared make such a ridiculous judgment about himself.

“But it’s not fair, because I still don’t have an answer for you,” Jared says harshly. His brow is pinched tight, like he’s disgusted with himself and anxious for Jensen not to be. “If you need to move out, then I refuse to make you wait just because I’m an—”

Jensen grabs Jared’s arm before any other self-inflicted insults make it out. _“Stop.”_

Jared subsides. “I’ll just stay here next time. Let you decide what you want on your own.”

“I don’t really want to go, if that helps.” God, he’s either incredibly stupid or incredibly daring, saying that to Jared. He knows damn well why he needs to get out of Jared’s space as soon as possible, but he is equally unwilling to put any of that space between them.

Jared looks at him for a long time. “Then why…”

Jensen turns away before Jared sees his blush. He thinks Jared gets pretty close to the reason on his own because he doesn’t finish the question.

“Just…” Jensen shakes himself. “Been getting a little complicated for me.”

“I don’t want you to leave, Jen.”

Jensen shuts his eyes and tries not to shiver. Jared can be astoundingly resolute when he wants to be. When he has a reason for someone to accept what he’s saying, point blank. The scary thing is, Jensen is rising to it. He can feel his body reacting in myriad ways, and instead of reminding him just how dangerous this is, it’s only pushing him deeper.

Closer to Jared.

Two versions of Jared are at war in his head: the one he can’t imagine kissing and the one he wants to throw down naked on a bed and worship until he can’t breathe. Something inside him still shifts uncomfortably at the idea of sticking his tongue in Jared’s mouth, no matter how much the rest of him claims it would be phenomenal. It’s like kissing his best friend— hell, it _is_ kissing his best friend, and it could be like kissing his brother, and god, the fandom would _love_ this.

The bottom line? Until Jensen gets his head around this disconnect, he’s floating in someone else’s river, watching all the banks he knows flow right by.

“I’ll stay, okay?” he breathes. It’s only giving in to what he wants to do anyway, but Jared cuts him off.

“Yeah, I don’t want you to just stay. Not like before. You might not think so, but I do know why you feel like you have to leave.”

Jensen loves the guy, but seriously? He thinks Jared has no fucking idea just how deep that ‘why’ goes.

“Alright.” His voice cracks. “How do you… What’s going to be different?”

“Jen…” Jared fidgets like he’s about to leap out of his skin. “Go out with me?”

Okay, Jensen can’t breathe. It has something to do with his eyes bugging out. “You want to—”

“I need to get my head around some stuff,” Jared rushes on. “Just once. To dinner or a game, twice maybe, just so I can see if— Shit, fuck, look at me, I’m using you as a lab rat.”

Jensen opens his mouth and shuts it. Jared’s right, and it should irritate him, raise his hackles. But if they do this, isn’t he using Jared the same way? Jensen’s not exactly old hat at dating guys. He’ll need to see if this works just as much as Jared will.

“We’ll go out,” he says. Jared meets his eyes, looking surprised. And hopeful. That’s what cements it for Jensen. “Let’s just say we’re both lab rats at this point, alright?”

Jared nods very slowly. He’s still _watching_ Jensen, completely intent, and Jensen’s stomach jumps, just in case he’s forgotten what he’s in for.

~tbc~


	4. Chapter 4

The next two days, they don’t discuss it, as if they only have so much energy set aside for this and now they have to take a break. But Jensen thinks about it a lot: what he wants out of this date, where they should go, what they should do. He tries to keep in mind that this isn’t all that different from going out to eat with Jared like they always do, or catching a flick or a game, going to a bar for drinks. But the whole point is that it is different. It’s a date. Like, a _date_ date. And… all that a date entails.

One day, Jensen’s going to grow up and just say words like ‘sex’ and ‘kissing’ and ‘making out’. Today, he’s happy to hide behind his trusty euphemisms.

Jared’s hot. Jensen can admit when another good-looking guy walks by, and even if he couldn’t, his own fandom would chew him out for even suggesting that Jared isn’t sexy. He knows Jared’s an attractive man. He’s muscled, he’s healthy, he’s friendly and handsome and generally happy, and he makes it a point to concern himself with the people he cares about. All attractive qualities.

There’s just this weird roadblock when Jensen gets to the part about Jared and nudity. He can picture it. Duh, they change in front of each other in costuming nearly every day, and they’re both guys so shirts are more of a suggestion on a daily basis. His brain just sort of short-circuits the second he thinks about Jared naked around him, with intent to be naked around him, for the purpose of getting Jensen just as naked as him so they can be naked together.

Maybe he’s taking this a little too fast. They haven’t even kissed yet. That’s usually step one in Jensen’s book. Sometimes you kiss someone and it just doesn’t click, and then the rest isn’t such a big deal anymore.

In the end, Jensen forgoes the analysis and decides on the practical matters. For this date, he wants dinner and a little bit of booze. He doesn’t want to sit in a theater not interacting with Jared, and he doesn’t know if he’ll be any good at handholding or whatever unless he can do it under a table the first time, so going to a game is out. Looks like he’ll be the one asking, then.

**

“So.” He’s drying a plate, gripping it carefully with both hands and watching to make sure Jared isn’t holding anything breakable. Just in case. “You want to try dinner this Saturday?”

Saturday, because Friday they will be totally wiped out and unable to say more than ‘Uh buhhhhhh’ to each other. Saturday is also followed by Sunday, which means there’s nothing pressing they need to stress over.

Jared’s hands go still in the soapy water, just for a second. “Sure, what time were you thinking?”

“Uh, seven? Thereabouts?”

Jared glances over quickly. “Sounds good. Where are we going?”

“The King and I.” Thai is Jensen’s comfort food at the moment and he really wants to be comfortable.

Jared grins. “Mm, love that place. Yeah, okay.”

And that’s that.

**

It does occur to Jensen that he might be spending Sunday in his room pitching a spaz when this goes spectacularly belly up, but he’s ignoring that at the moment.

**

On Saturday evening, he chooses cinder-grey pants and a white button down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He knows he’ll just be rolling them up anyway as the night progresses; he never can eat in a restaurant without worrying about dipping his sleeves into the food on his plate.

Jared’s waiting by the back door, hands shoved in his pockets, looking out into the yard. He’s wearing burgundy over black trousers, and the red of his sweater makes his skin glow.

“Hey.” Jensen clears his throat. “Ready to go?”

Jared’s eyes linger on Jensen when he first turns his head, his body following slowly. “Yep.” He comes across the room, picking up his jacket from the back of the couch. “Am I driving?”

Jensen nods, patting his pockets to make sure he’s got his wallet, also to make sure he doesn’t stare at Jared’s throat where it vanishes under the neckline of his sweater. Jared makes a puzzled noise.

“Hey, what happened to your car keys anyway?”

Jensen nearly chokes. He coughs to cover it up and grabs his coat from the rack. “Uh, they’re around here somewhere. You don’t mind driving, do you?”

Jared shrugs. “Nope.”

Jensen tries to find a casual way to ask if Jared has emptied the dogs’ poop bucket into the main trash can lately and can’t think of a thing. Damn it, he’d forgotten about that little detail. He’d almost rather forget the whole thing and pay for new ones.

Jared follows him out the front door and locks up behind them. The evening is clear and cool, and there’s the scent of summer building. Jensen loves summer, especially here where it’s not blistering. In a few months, it’ll actually be summer, and that means hiatus, and whoa, Jensen doesn’t want to think about that future stuff and how tonight could affect all that in bizarre ways.

Just tonight. That’s plenty for now.

The drive is pretty laid back, with Jared tapping his fingers to some song in his head. Jensen would worry that it meant Jared was nervous, but Jared’s actually humming the song, too. Jensen thinks it’s Cream, but this is Jared so he will never be exactly sure. Until, that is, Jared gets to the chorus and Jensen takes a risk, singing “in the sunshine of your love” out loud.

Jared looks over and grins at him.

The restaurant is pretty crowded but Jensen reserved a spot. He gives his name and follows the hostess to a table along the bank of windows to their left, Jared close behind him. No one pulls out anyone else’s chair; they just take their seats across from each other like they always do. Jared asks for sodas and smiles at the hostess as she leaves.

Jensen wants to tell Jared that he looks good, but if Jared’s a few steps behind him in this whole process, then Jensen doesn’t want to overload him. It’s just that Jared’s eyes keep flicking back to Jensen’s shirt, somewhere around his shoulders, he thinks.

Well. If Jared wants to make the first move in that department, then Jensen’s happy to let him.

Jared picks up his menu instead. “What are you getting?”

Jensen’s known from the instant he chose the restaurant that he’s ordering their Pad Thai. It’s fantastic. He points it out to Jared on the menu and Jared screws up his face a little before picking the entrée right below that, which turns out to be Massaman curry.

So Jensen’s going to be stealing some of that.

When the waiter brings their drinks, Jensen orders, ending it off with the addition of coconut milk soup and plates of satay skewers and spring rolls.

“Oh, you know, could I have a Thai iced tea, please?” Jared asks at the very end.

Jensen waits till their server departs before smirking at him. “Yeah, ew.”

Jared sniffs. “Just because you have no taste buds to speak of.”

“Actually, I do, because I can taste how disgusting that stuff is.” Jensen grins. “You should really get that looked at.”

Jared laughs, and just like that, it feels alright. It’s tense, sure, but were they really thinking it wouldn’t be? It’s nothing they can’t work around. Jensen knows this guy, he knows what interests him and how to make him laugh, which is more than he can say for most dates he’s been on. And Jared knows him. This won’t completely explode in their faces. Jensen has to remember that.

**

Jared’s curry is damn good. Jensen manages to procure half of it, but that’s only fair because Jared takes a Jared-sized bite of his Pad Thai when he’s distracted. They order mango with sticky rice for dessert and, oh god, Jensen’s going to have to learn the particulars of making this. Especially when it puts _that_ look on Jared’s face.

The conversation is so incredibly normal that Jensen’s nerves are long gone, until it becomes apparent that he’s unwilling to leave the restaurant. A cup of coffee with dessert, sure, but three? He’s never going to sleep tonight at this rate, and that notion sets off a whole army of warning bells in his brain. They sound a lot like ‘do not go any further with that thought process or innuendo or whatever it is because the result will leave you fucking shredded, either by laughter or dizziness, you hear?’ It’s a catchy tune.

He notices that Jared is drawing out their stay as well and wonders about the state of his nerves.

Eventually, Jensen’s manners get the better of him: if he were working tables at a nice restaurant, he would be pissed off by customers who refuse to get the hell out. He sets his empty water glass near the middle of the table and clears his throat. “Think they’re closing.”

Jared glances around the room and straightens up from where he’s slouched in his chair. “Shit. Yeah, we should…”

Jensen gets out his wallet.

“Oh, hey,” Jared says. He half-reaches for Jensen’s hand and they hover in place, staring at each other. “I can pay for this.”

Jensen makes an effort to shrug nonchalantly, and isn’t that an oxymoron. “Nah, I asked you. I’ll pay.”

Jared purses his lips. “Actually, I think I asked you. Technically speaking.”

He’s right. But that wasn’t really specific, and Jensen made all the decisions this time. “It’s fine, Jare. I got this one. Next time, it’s all yours.”

Jared catches his eye and holds it. Jensen swallows. He’s aware of what he said, and he means it, whether next time is a buddy thing or another actual date. Hell, he’ll pay again next time if it comes to that. He’ll pay for Jared’s food any day.

Of course, if Jensen actually admits that out loud, his entire paycheck will forever go toward filling Jared’s bottomless pit of a stomach. Jensen’s no fool.

Jensen pays and when the card receipt comes back, he tips generously. He looks up to find Jared standing, holding Jensen’s coat. He hands it over with a smile. In this light, warm from all the gold in the restaurant’s décor, Jared’s eyes hit that perfect hazel they sometimes get when it mists on set and the sun is still out. Jensen lets himself look. His insides tumble lazily, achy and soft and just this side of comfortable. God, what Jared does to him.

Jared’s face smoothes, and he draws a slow, steady breath. Jensen’s nerves return full-force.

The drive home is silent. Jensen can feel the tension packing further into the car with each mile. They’re that much closer to finding out exactly how this is going to end, and Jensen’s not ready for it. He doesn’t want an end, and suddenly he’s convinced it will be a bad one. It might even end them, much more viciously than any one-sided confession of love could have done. Jensen’s going to push his best friend right over the edge into something else and destroy everything.

He reminds himself that he’s not on this date alone. Jared asked for this, to give this a try. Jared wants to be here with him, regardless of whatever else he might want. There’s no pressure on him that isn’t also on Jared.

And he really needs to calm down or he’s going to have an aneurism right here in the car and scare Jared half to death.

He looks over and finds Jared chewing his lower lip. Now, Jensen’s reaction to pressure has always intrigued him. If there’s no one to panic, he’s right there to step it up and fill the post with flailing and useless ranting about how they’re all going to die. Maybe he doesn’t always do it vocally, but it’s there inside. However, if someone else is panicking, it’s like Jensen’s body locks down into protection mode. He goes completely sober and clear-headed, ready to deal with the problems his companion can’t handle.

Right now, Jared’s visibly nervous, and a sense of calm sweeps over Jensen with shivery speed.

“Hey, Jare?”

Jared startles and looks at him before turning back to the road. “Yeah.”

Jensen reaches over and pats Jared’s leg. He doesn’t even think about it, just does it, like he always used to. “I had a good time tonight.”

Jared smiles, a real smile. Jensen can practically see the tension dripping out of him. “Good. Me too, man.”

Jensen nods. He looks out at the road ahead, cut by the stream of Jared’s headlights. He knows he could just keep silent, but this is something he needs to say, because this isn’t some random first date with a person he clicks with. This is Jared. Jared deserves his best effort. “Whatever else happens, I’m glad we did this, Jared. Alright?”

Jared blinks a couple times. He reaches over and rubs Jensen’s shoulder with one warm hand.

**

They receive a sleepy version of the doggy greeting when they get in the front door, and then Sadie and Harley pad off to wherever they came from. Jensen shrugs out of his coat and hangs it up, relieved that he doesn’t drop it in the end; his hands are shaking.

If they are going to go with the old classic, he certainly doesn’t want to do it out on the front porch. He’s pretty sure they’re both going to need time to adjust afterward without the benefit of nosy neighbors.

“You want a drink?” Jared offers, motioning toward the kitchen. Jensen’s throat is a little dry, to say the least. He nods and follows Jared as far as the doorway, then backs out of it as Jared returns with two glasses of water. Jensen’s absurdly glad it’s not alcohol, and that Jared didn’t even ask; the temptation to dull his nerves is too strong at the moment.

Oddly enough, Jared downs his water like he’s downing a shot. Jensen takes his time if only to keep from choking. Oh, he is so not ready for this, he’s never going to be ready for this. In four minutes or four years, it will still belt him right in the gut.

Jared sets his glass down. His fingers linger on the rim for a second before he straightens up. Jensen finishes his own and clears his throat, placing his glass beside Jared’s on the coffee table. Alright, he’s going to have to look at Jared in the near future, he really is. What the hell is wrong with him?

He sees it when Jared shoves both hands into his pockets and then immediately pulls them out again. Jared’s right thumb taps an uneven beat against the outside of his thigh.

“Jen, I think…”

Jensen makes himself raise his head. Jared meets his eyes. They’re only a few feet apart. Jared finally lifts a hand and loops his fingers very lightly around Jensen’s wrist. Draws him closer. Jensen has one last second to freak out because what if it doesn’t work, fuck, what if it’s too strange?

It _is_ strange.

Jared’s lips are a little chapped, but warm. A mouth Jensen recognizes at the same time as he doesn’t. Definitely Jared, though: he smells the same, same hair product, same cologne that Jensen has always associated with the house and Jared’s clothing and the dogs. His closest friend.

He makes inappropriate jokes with this guy— this _guy_ , and Jensen knows part of this is that he’s never kissed a guy before, but suddenly, weirdly, it feels like he is indeed kissing Chris Kane, best _friend_ , and that’s just—

Jensen falters.

Jared’s mouth follows his for the pounding of a heartbeat. Jensen’s thoughts clamp down and Jared pulls away.

It’s gone all wrong, with Jared, this kiss that was supposed to be perfect, only it’s so damn far from that. They’ve fucked it up, _he’s_ fucked it up; he had this chance to get what he wanted, the person he’s head over heels for, and he just—

It’s the lightning flare of loss, disappointment sharp as steel that has Jensen reversing their grip and pulling Jared back in.

Jensen kisses him, really kisses him. For the sake of the kiss, not because of an expectation. Because it’s Jared and Jensen wants to kiss Jared. However confusing the rest of it is, he’s absolutely sure this time about wanting to kiss Jared.

And this time… _This_ is nothing like kissing a friend. Vertigo tugs at Jensen’s mind as Jared’s mouth opens and the kiss sails right off the edge and down. Deep.

Jensen remembers to breathe just as Jared’s arms close around him. It’s the sudden, shaky momentum of instinct, and Jensen finds he’s already clenched fistfuls of Jared’s shirt in both hands. Jared seeks him out and drowns him again, tongue and lips and a little bit of teeth, and it’s all so, so good. This is a _kiss_. This, right here, is precisely why Jensen loves kissing. The shape of it, the shock right down to the base of his spine, the breathless tug on his lungs, the sense that he’s not getting it all, never getting it all, fuck, he just wants to go deeper and keep right on going until he gets every piece of it, every little bit of Jared that he can. Jensen inhales through his nose, tilts Jared’s face in his hands, and he can taste mango and coffee and jasmine rice, and god, Jared is a _good kisser_ , fuck.

Jensen likes the taste on Jared’s tongue, he likes the way his mouth fits with Jared’s, and it hardly matters that he’s kissing another man because it just works and that’s all there is to it. The second he stops fighting that, it gets a million times more intimate. Jensen’s a fast learner, always has been, but it’s the intimacy that gets him again and again with each touch of their lips, each breath hastily drawn. He thinks he might know Jared better than anyone else he’s kissed, especially on a first date, and this isn’t even like that because they’re so much further than a first date. But he didn’t know this about Jared. He didn’t know Jared could kiss like he was born doing it, like he knows exactly what makes Jensen tick. He probably does, and Jensen hopes he’s giving Jared half of what Jared’s giving him because if he isn’t, it’s a fucking travesty and Jared needs to go away and find the person who truly deserves him and all his skills, except, no, Jensen’s not okay with that idea at all, come to think of it. He pulls Jared in, a hand curled at his nape, the other hooked at Jared’s hip, he smells Jared’s cologne and wants Jared’s tongue to just stay right where it is in his mouth, because Jensen? Jensen can kiss Jared for the rest of their damn lives, he’s absolutely certain he’s got the stamina to make that happen.

Jared utters something, Jensen’s fucking _name_ on the back of a little gasp, licking at Jensen’s mouth, and fuck, maybe Jensen’s got less stamina than he thought because he’s feeling a little unsteady on his feet. God, he’d just like to get Jared onto the couch and keep on keepin’ on. He hasn’t been this buzzed in a long, long time by another person’s taste and touch. He wants to feel what Jared feels like all over, see if the skin on his shoulders is as soft as the skin of his face and throat, and kiss him until Jared forgets either of them was ever nervous about this. Jared’s got a grip on him like Jensen can’t believe, body pressed all along his front, fingers against Jensen’s throat, thumb stroking beneath his chin, Jared’s hair is soft when Jensen slides his fingers up into it and wait, no, no, no, back the truck right the hell up, this isn’t going to happen this way.

He can feel the way Jared’s clutching onto him, hear the urgency in the sounds Jared’s making against his lips. Ending this feels like the exact opposite of what Jensen needs at this precise second, but there is no way in hell he’s letting this slide into a frantic one night stand only to find Jared unable to meet his eyes in the morning.

There’s no question in his mind that he wants to get Jared naked now, and that only makes it more difficult to push Jared out of the kiss.

Jared noses back into it once, twice, and Jensen lets go, follows him in and kisses Jared again until he nearly forgets why they should stop. He wants to climb right up Jared’s body, but it doesn’t change the reasoning from before. He bumps his nose with Jared’s as he pulls back and something strikes hard inside him, how perfect that tiny, insignificant nudge is. How _intimate_. God.

“Think we should stop,” he breathes into the space between their mouths, which isn’t all that wide.

Jared might be nodding. He might just be breathing heavily. Jensen fists Jared’s shirt just below his ribs and holds on.

“You okay?” he manages. “Jared?”

Jared’s eyes slip right past his as he leans back, and Jensen wishes he could see exactly what’s in them. He’s pretty sure Jared’s thinking about where this could go; they’re still pressed together all along their fronts, all the more noticeable because their breathing is out of sync. Jared’s shaking, just a little. Jensen feels an uncomfortable tug above the nape of his neck and realizes that Jared is gripping his hair.

“I’m not sure.” It’s barely a sentence. Jared’s voice rumbles unsteadily. He still hasn’t looked up. Jensen wants to kiss him again. But he wants _them_ more than he wants that kiss. He’s not fucking this up, not with Jared.

Jared finally raises his head, and Jensen looks into his eyes and sees the un-tempered heat in them as well as the shock. He hopes Jared is shocked at the strength of his own reaction rather than at his reasons for kissing his best friend. Jared blinks. His fingers go slack against Jensen’s scalp.

“I’m…”

Jensen cups Jared’s face. “Don’t want to rush.” He doesn’t want whatever follows to be frenzied. He wants Jared to be sure, not tumbled sideways in a river of heat.

Jared nods. His hand slides down to grasp Jensen’s nape. He nods again. “Yeah.”

“Jared, are you—” Damn it, why can’t he leave well enough alone? Jensen tries to ignore his own semi-question but he really wants to know that Jared’s okay with the direction tonight took, because if he’s not…

Jared’s eyes trace over Jensen’s face. He reaches up deliberately and tilts Jensen’s head. The kiss this time is long and searching. Shallower than before.

Damn _it_. It makes sense to treat this as if they don’t already live together, go their separate ways for the night and just take things slowly. Jensen knows it. But he doesn’t want it.

They step apart there in the middle of the living room, and Jensen notices that they never even got the lights on, except for in the kitchen. Jared grabs his hand and squeezes, pulls for just a second, then lets go and heads up the stairs, one hand trailing along the banister. Jensen turns his feet in the direction of his bedroom downstairs, toeing off his shoes as he goes and shutting the door behind him once he’s inside.

He feels so itchy in his clothes, and doubts he’ll sleep at all tonight. His mind and body are just too full. Too raw.

**

Jared comes downstairs when Jensen’s just finishing breakfast— toast and strawberry jam. Jensen doesn’t think he can handle much more than that. He nods a good morning and watches Jared cross the room, wishing he could say something normal.

Jared holds up a Frisbee. “Let’s hit the park.”

They don’t take the dogs. Jared’s in track pants and a thin shirt; Jensen gets a good view of his shoulders on the walk over, just a step behind Jared until Jared noticeably shortens his stride. “Sorry,” he murmurs, looking ahead. “Forget about you shrimps sometimes.”

Jensen steals the Frisbee with a deft grab and smacks Jared on the head with it. Jared turns, grinning, trots backward a few steps and motions for the throw. By the time they get to the park, they’ve spread out and limbered up, and Jensen’s proud of the way his throws are carving through the air right into Jared’s waiting grip. He makes Jared guess a few times and gets his own chance to scramble when Jared lobs the Frisbee a little too hard to Jensen’s right.

“Last night,” Jared says, like he’s bringing up football, and Jensen nearly fumbles a catch. He straightens and meets Jared’s eyes.

“Yeah?”

There’s no one else at the park save for a woman pushing her daughter on the swing set over on the playground. Jared holds up his hand and Jensen sends the Frisbee back.

“You okay with that?” Jared asks once he has it in hand.

Oh lord, with what? The kiss? The near-dive into bed? The way Jensen sort of lost his mind for several minutes there?

Jensen shrugs. He jumps to catch Jared’s throw. “Just didn’t want it to get out of hand.” He can’t believe they’re discussing this while tossing an electric blue Frisbee back and forth in the park on a Sunday morning.

Jared’s cheeks go scarlet and Jensen blinks. “Okay,” Jared finally says. “Wasn’t sure if you were having second thoughts.”

Jensen nearly interrupts Jared with his adamant reassurance before realizing it might be too much all at once. He’s not having second thoughts. The role he wants for Jared in his life finally slotted into place last night, but Jared… He’s hard to read.

Jensen hesitates just a moment more, then jogs over, stopping only when they’re close enough to have a normal conversation. Jared’s brow already bears a sheen of sweat, as does his upper lip. Jensen wipes his own face with his arm. “No second thoughts,” he says, looking Jared in the eye. “Just… want to make sure that _you_ …”

He trails off, embarrassed, staring up at Jared, wanting equally to kiss him breathless and get the hell away before they screw up their friendship any more. But Jared’s hand shoots out fast and he pulls Jensen into a hug that freezes every single muscle he’s got. Jared’s in a worn, soft t-shirt, he smells like coffee and sweat and the freshly cut grass beneath their shoes. He smells fucking _familiar_. Comforting. Jensen wraps his arms around Jared’s torso and squeezes, because he can. He’s allowed.

Damn, he’s _still_ allowed. Where in the world did Jared Tristan Padalecki come from, and why has no one snatched him up and run away with him by now?

“Thank you, Jen.” It’s spoken quietly in his ear. Even with the sun beating down his back, Jensen shivers.

**

At home, the hellhounds give them both baleful looks for going off and having happy funtimes without them, but they’re terrible at holding grudges or even remembering to be mad. As soon as Jared opens the fridge to grab sandwich fixings, Sadie and Harley love him to death again.

Jensen stands in the kitchen doorway on his tiptoes, fingers caught over the top lintel, feeling the stretch all through his shoulders and down his back. Fuck, but that’s orgasmic. He thinks about saying as much out loud, but the words falter and fall back down his throat. He swallows, then jumps when his phone buzzes on the kitchen counter.

“My mom,” he says once he’s seen the number on the screen. He tilts his head toward the sliding glass door. Jared nods, and Jensen answers as he heads out back. “Hi.”

“Hey, kiddo, it’s your dad.”

Jensen halts in the middle of the porch. “Hey. Dad.”

“Listen, your mom and I had a chat this morning. About what’s going on with you.”

Oh god. Jensen resists the urge to bang his head against the side of the house. “Yeah?” The word cracks.

His dad takes an audible breath. “Kid, your mom said you wanted to be here when it all went down. Talk to me in person, explain and all. But I don’t see the point in you coming all the way home, dragging this all out and sending people into hysterics.”

Jensen’s throat literally constricts. Like a boa constrictor. Constricting. He’s not ready for this, wasn’t prepared for it to go down like this, isn’t even in the right mindset for this call (if there is a right mindset for this kind of thing). “Dad, I’m… Are you…”

“Listen up, kiddo.” That’s the Voice. There’s no arguing with the Voice. “Stop worrying. Alright? I’d love you to come home, lord knows. What I don’t want is you freaking out in a plane or on a bus or, god forbid, behind the wheel of your _car_ on a crowded freeway over what I’m going to say once you get here. You don’t need a head start on the grey hair, and I’m sure as heck not going to kick you out or reprogram your brain or disown you because you happen to be interested in a man.”

Again, hard to speak. And breathe.

“Jensen?”

“Yeah,” he manages. His throat hurts. “Yeah, Dad.”

“You’re my son, kiddo. Nothing’s going to change that. There are battles worth fighting in life, and this is definitely not one of them. Your mom’s worried you’re going to burst a blood vessel over this, and there’s no reason for you to be stressed out for longer than it takes me to dial your number and put your mind at rest. Now. If you want to come home and kick back, see your sister and your mom, that’s a reason for traveling.”

He might cry. He’s right on the edge. “Dad, I… Thanks.”

His dad’s tone softens. “No thanks necessary, Jensen. Might take me time to get my mind around the change in tastes, but… Hell. You probably knew that.”

Right know, Jensen’s pretty sure he doesn’t know anything. “I just…” He shakes his head. “Dad, I’m really glad you called.”

“You may not know this, but you’re a good kid, Jensen. Grew up smart, with drive, and I’m proud. I’m not interested in changing you.”

They talk for a few more minutes— mostly dropping back into the monosyllabic man-speak that women hate with a passion, and once Jensen ends the call, he sits down hard on the first step, catching himself with one hand and nearly dropping his phone. The door slides open behind him, and Jared’s steps cross the porch quickly.

“You okay?”

Jensen looks up at him, clutching his cell phone. “I’m. Yeah?”

Jared’s got a plate in his hand. He lowers it into Jensen’s line of sight. “Looked like you got a little more than you bargained for there. Everything alright back home?”

He looks from the two waiting sandwiches to his phone, then back again, then up at Jared. “My dad just told me he’s okay with me liking guys.”

Jared takes a seat next to him, kicking his long legs out. Jeez, his heels are resting in the fucking grass and he’s sitting on the top step. “Dude.”

Jensen thinks that constantly recovering from being in shock is no way to live. “Yeah.”

Jared studies him. “You alright?”

“More than alright,” Jensen breathes. “I wasn’t expecting— I mean—”

He falls silent. Jared claps him lightly on the shoulder, then picks up one of the sandwiches. Jensen lifts his from the plate and holds it in his lap. How to explain that he was scared out of his mind? His father has really never given him reason to think he’d cut him out of their lives for anything, and yet the fear is just too belly-deep. It’s such a massive shift. A huge revelation. Hard to imagine not being alone in the world with it, even when he knows he’s not.

“Never thought about telling my folks,” Jared says, contemplative around a mouthful of turkey and tomato. Jensen’s not sure what to feel in response to that. If it were him, he’d consider it a display of not taking this seriously. Dipping his toes safely, so to speak. But it’s Jared, and Jared walks through the world differently. He tends to deal with one big shift at a time, unlike Jensen, who likes to have a good grip on everything he can whenever he can.

He takes a bite of his sandwich— mmm, Jared used the honey mustard— and decides he’s going to take a leaf out of Jared’s book. Today, he’s just going to enjoy the fact that his dad’s love is truly unconditional.

**

They get Wednesday off because of a mistake in the set design, and Jensen wakes up to Dr. Harley’s prescribed stress therapy, also known as, oh hell, there’s a freaking pony sitting on my chest giving me a spit bath. Jensen’s a little ticklish. Okay, a lot ticklish, so by the time he’s done laughing and Harley has flopped over so his tummy can be rubbed more efficiently, Jensen’s feeling pretty relaxed.

He’s certain he wants a dog of his own if this thing with Jared doesn’t work out. Maybe he can distract Jared with Cadbury Cream Eggs and run off with Harley.

It would certainly help with the devastation he’s bound to be feeling right about then.

They’re having a nice snuggle when Jared barges in and corrupts Harley’s steadfast loyalty by yelling, “Poop bag!” Which, in dog, obviously means “We’re going to the dog park!” Jensen should feel more slighted by the foot to his chest in the mad scramble of Harley versus tangled bed sheets, but he’s surprisingly Zen about it. What can he say? That dog is full of win.

He gets up, showers, puts his pajamas right back on, then eats scrambled eggs with a bagel and adores the fact that it’s nearly noon already. They really need more days off in the middle of the week like this. He’d totally work on Saturday or Sunday to make up for it; he’d probably feel more energized with the weekend broken up.

He goes to the kitchen for more coffee and gets butter, eggs, and a bag of chocolate chips out of the fridge without really deciding to do it. Flour and sugar from the pantry, oatmeal and pecans and everything else he needs— he’s always had a good memory. But he wants to get it exactly right again, so he grabs the recipe from where it’s tucked into a cookbook and sets himself to making more Jared Cookies.

Ever since his father’s call, something in his bones has loosened up, and though he still has to remind himself that there’s no reason for that vestigial sense of dread anymore, he feels like he’s shifted some heavy slab off of himself. Kind of like how he felt as a kid when the first day of summer vacation finally came and he realized that he didn’t have homework due for ages. But this is liberating in a way he hasn’t felt before. He’s just... at ease.

Jared brings the dogs home just as Jensen’s stirring in the chocolate chips. An extra half a bag this time because, hello, chocolate. He’s still in his pajamas, standing barefoot in the kitchen with the bowl tucked under his arm, when Jared walks in and stops short.

“What,” he says, pointing at Jensen, “is that?”

“Three guesses,” Jensen manages around a cheek full of chocolate chips. “First two don’t count.”

The look on Jared’s face is startling and hard to read. He studies the bowl and spatula, then raises his eyes slowly. “You’re sort of awesome,” he says.

Jensen scoffs. “I’m beyond awesome.” He pops a lump of cookie dough into his mouth straight from the bowl and sighs at the taste, then holds the spatula out to Jared. “Wanna lick the spoon, Igor?”

Jared’s eyes narrow very suddenly. He sets the dogs’ leashes down on the counter and approaches the proffered spatula. When he takes it, though, he upends it and sticks it back in the bowl. And wraps his fingers around the rim.

Jensen’s formulating reasons why Jared can’t have the entire bowl, duh, but Jared isn’t stopping. His arm slides around Jensen’s waist; Jared pulls him in, bends his head, and licks the cookie dough right out of Jensen’s mouth before diving into a thorough, lengthy kiss. It’s a good thing Jared thought to grab the bowl because Jensen lets go of it. Jared slips it onto the countertop behind him.

“I’m good, thanks,” Jared breathes as he pulls away. He licks his lips. His eyes dart, searching. Whatever it is that he finds, he curls his hand around Jensen’s nape and goes back in, as sure as if they aren’t just sorting through this change in their relationship, as if he’s been kissing Jensen for months already. Jensen’s fine with that, and then his thoughts short out again. He’s been using them too much lately, it seems, and now he’s just going to kiss Jared, kiss him and kiss him for as long as Jared will let him.

It’s the best kiss ever, what with the cookie dough flavor slicking his tongue. Jensen cradles Jared’s head, god, he’s wanted to get his hands through that hair again ever since Saturday. This is so different from that: there’s no question fluttering between them right now. It’s a kiss, and it’s certain, and it’s the middle of a sunny day in their kitchen and the chocolate is a _really_ nice touch.

It changes when Jared’s hands slip down, one at the small of his back and the other in an embrace around his shoulders, arm tucked under Jensen’s and hot against his side. Jensen’s heart thuds hard against his ribs, once, then picks up, a rapid tattoo in his temples. The kiss shifts, the shape of Jared’s mouth and the angle, the way he _grips_ Jensen with his hands; it all triggers at once and Jensen inhales sharply through his nose, tugging Jared closer because it’s here. God, it’s fucking here. He didn’t see it coming.

Jared backs him up slowly, edging with his hips as he walks. Each step forward is a hot nudge to Jensen’s thighs, his stomach and chest. Their movement is so seamless, he feels like he’s stepped up onto Jared’s feet. He bumps into the counter and stops, and Jared presses closer, every inch of him heavy against Jensen. This kiss could go on and on, but Jensen’s already moving, dipping his mouth away. Jared’s lips catch him just under his eye on the way, then Jared presses his mouth to Jensen’s forehead and breathes through his nose. Looks down.

“S’okay,” Jared whispers before Jensen can say anything. “I’m right with you on this. We’re good.”

Jensen honestly doesn’t know how they actually understand each other because they communicate through a bunch of broken sentences and weird facial expressions most of the time. Jared’s ready. Somehow, he’s ready, and Jensen doesn’t know if he himself is ready anymore, but he fucking _wants_ Jared. Jared and his cookies, Jared and his dogs, Jared and his house and his spastic flailing and his cheeky grins, Jensen wants it all, wants to point and say, yeah, that’s mine because he gave it to me. He entrusted it to me.

Too big; these thoughts are much too big for the current situation. Jensen manhandles Jared into another kiss, tasting and feeling and experiencing what it’s like when Jared wants him, because this is new territory for them. Maybe the only new territory left. Jensen wants to map it. He wants to memorize it. He wants to walk it blindfolded and still know exactly where he is at all times. Jared steps even closer, guiding their hips together and sending heat skittering right through Jensen’s nerves. He jerks back helplessly and attacks Jared’s throat instead, tasting salt and skin, feeling Jared’s palm tucked into the hollow at his back, just below his waistband, his shirt riding up a little and Jared’s thumb _circling_ right over the base of his spine.

He should think about the aftermath of this. But he knows he’s not going to, not till it’s done. Whatever Jared’s side of things, Jensen is totally over the edge now. He can feel the weight of each day of the last few months thudding in his belly, waiting on tenterhooks, wondering first what was up with his feelings, then whether Jared felt the same, and then what they were to each other after Saturday. He still doesn’t know the answer to that last one but this doesn’t feel like a prelude to an awkward morning after. The light is different, their clothing’s different, everything’s just different. It’s enough for Jensen to let go.

Jared hitches Jensen’s hips up and forward, and it’s far beyond kissing now, worrisomely far. Jensen can’t even hold the kiss properly anymore; he needs air, his breath hitches into Jared’s mouth and Jared’s into his. He slides just a tiny bit to the left and they click home, legs between legs, angles complementing just right, and Jared jerks, buries his face in Jensen’s shoulder. He pushes his hand all the way down Jensen’s pants, between him and the counter, forcing them together again and again. It sparks low in Jensen’s belly, his thighs tingling like they’ve been asleep, his hips literally aching with the heat of it. He feels the first time Jared’s rhythm falters, a minute stutter that has blood flushing red up Jared’s throat into his cheeks. Jensen tongues back into Jared’s mouth, desperate for a kiss, because in a second he’s not going to have much control over anything, least of all the noises he’s making.

Jared’s making the loveliest noises. The heat under Jensen’s hands is slick and sweet; somehow he got his hand up Jared’s shirt, splayed over his chest, feeling each breath and each shudder. Jared presses in hard, a rough upward thrust of his hips, urging Jensen in counterpoint, and that’s it, he’s gone, all the tension rushing up and out in hot strafing bursts. His hips stutter and jolt into Jared’s, and Jared kisses him just as hard, then freezes. Trembles violently as he comes.

And now Jensen’s not a little dazed, one hand still threaded through Jared’s hair, blinking at the oven light, which is now off, indicating that it is preheated. _Cookies_ , he thinks, but the thought doesn’t settle. Jared’s right here, warm and heaving against him, wrapped so tightly around him that Jensen doesn’t want to bother with anything that doesn’t have to do with them, here in the kitchen.

His back hurts. Jensen licks his lips, knowing he’s going to bruise from the counter’s edge. He only cares a little. His body feels loose and un-tethered, like he might just slide on down to the floor in a puddle if Jared ever lets go.

An auspicious first time, he thinks vaguely, against the countertop in their kitchen, messed pajamas and track pants, shirts rucked halfway up and cookie dough on the counter beside them. Oh god, his first time with Jared just ended.

His instinct is to kiss Jared, so he does. Languid and heartfelt, Jensen hopes. He’s certainly feeling it in the area of his heart. He’s okay with it if they don’t ever stop.

It goes on for long enough that Jensen forgets there’s reason to worry. Until Jared pulls away, breaking the sweet warmth between their mouths. Suddenly Jensen can’t look at him. _Can’t_ , because if Jared looks scared or worried or wary or upset or a whole host of other things, he won’t be able to handle it. His emotions are on the brink of a quaking cliff. One push and he’ll go right over.

Jared presses his nose to Jensen’s cheek, nudging upward. “Jen, hey. Don’t.”

Even if he doesn’t look up, it’s not going to change whatever Jared’s feeling. Jensen lifts his eyes, swallowing, halfway to just distracting Jared again with his mouth, but Jared’s staring back, and he does look worried.

They just came together. Jensen can feel the evidence, for fuck’s sake, and he doesn’t know what to say. All his questions about awkwardness have been answered, but what about Jared’s questions? “Sorry,” Jensen whispers. “Maybe it wasn’t the right time.”

Jared studies him carefully and Jensen forces himself not to turn away. “Jen, I’m good with it if you are.”

Jensen instinctively clenches his hand in Jared’s hair and sees his tiniest of winces. He lets go, sucking in a breath. “I’m good.”

Fuck, he’s _great_. He just got off with Jared, the one who his emotions have damn well spiked over, every single one of them. No one’s ever been able to do this to him before. And he’s one lucky S.O.B because Jared still isn’t trying to put space between them. In fact, he seems to be cutting the space down as much as he possibly can, and maybe Jensen should just stop looking a gift horse in the mouth.

A spasm of fear shoots over Jared’s face, followed immediately by relief, and Jensen understands how much Jared was holding back right then. He cups Jared’s face, desperate to get as far away from that fear as possible. “No, we’re good, we’re— very good. We’re excellent.”

So his vocabulary sucks. Big fat hairy deal. At least he’s trying to speak, which is more than he can say for Jared, who’s just— _kissing_ him again, fuck. He could get used to this, he’s already used to this, and Jared tastes damn good, all driven and focused like he is, like Jensen’s got more cookies somewhere in his mouth, and he’s not about to remind Jared about the full bowl of dough on the counter because then Jared might start making out with the bowl instead.

Oh god, they’re making out. It’s still surreal, never mind that they’ve just basically rubbed each other off.

Jared presses him back into the counter again and, oh, so that bruise is _really_ going to suck. Jensen turns his head with a distressed grunt and Jared’s hand is immediately there, caressing his back. Smoothing away the pain. “Sorry.”

Oh, there is so nothing to be sorry about.

**

Eventually they finish the cookies. Which means that the dough that doesn’t get eaten makes it onto three trays in neat rows and columns, and the only time Jared lets go of Jensen happens when Jensen has to put them in the oven and take them out again.

**

That night, Jensen makes it two steps down the hall to his room before turning around and heading up the stairs. Jared went up to use his bathroom a few minutes ago, and when Jensen gets to his room, he’s brushing his teeth. Jensen sits on the bed before he can think about it and waits.

He hears Jared freeze a few steps into his bedroom. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Jensen has no idea what the policy is. He and Jared had sex in the kitchen. Doesn’t matter if there was no… penetration. It was intended to be sex, so that’s what it was. Jensen’s not sorry they did it, he just doesn’t know whether he’s supposed to be sleeping with Jared now.

And just what the hell is the big deal anyway? Jared climbed into Jensen’s bed the night Jensen revealed his feelings for him and neither of them thought it was weird. But this feels different.

Jared shifts his weight, foot to foot. “You okay?”

No. Yes. It changes by the minute. Jensen can’t keep staring at Jared’s bare feet on the rug forever, though. When he looks up, he finds Jared in threadbare plaid pajama pants and nothing else. Jensen clears his throat.

“Question.”

Jared cocks his head. “Answer.”

Jensen tries not to smile and fails. “Look, are we…?” He runs a hand over Jared’s blankets.

Jared’s eyes follow the movement and flick back to him. He shrugs. “I don’t mind.”

Okay. Jensen exhales, but Jared keeps going. “Did you want to…”

It takes him a second to get what’s behind Jared’s wrinkled brow, the way he’s biting his lip, and when he does, he fidgets. “Well… I mean, we have to be up early. Tomorrow.”

Lame, but true. He suspects that if he has full-on sex with Jared, he’ll end up too wired to sleep, and they’ve got a heinously early call to set in the morning in order to make up for lost time. But Jared’s not wearing a shirt and Jensen fucking wants him. He’s not about to start denying things now.

Still, the thought of taking so many steps in one day makes his insides roil uncomfortably. Not when it took them this long to get to this place, this level of comfort. On top of that, he has a feeling he won’t be able to sleep much on his own, thinking of Jared in bed one floor above him. Wondering if Jared’s thinking of him.

“Maybe,” Jared offers, “we could just, you know. Sleep.”

Jensen feels himself blush. “Is it okay? I don’t want to—”

“It’s okay,” Jared bursts out, and blushes, too. He stands there awkwardly for a few seconds, then returns to the bathroom.

Jensen gets into bed.

When Jared turns the lights out, it’s like a weight lifting. Jensen’s perfectly okay with hiding in the dark tonight; he’ll butch up again tomorrow. Jared gets in bed— the whole bed smells like Jared, it’s really kind of wonderful— and settles on his side, facing Jensen. He can see the outline of Jared’s head on the next pillow.

A hand covers his where it rests between them. “Yeah?” Jared sounds parched.

Jensen turns his hand over and squeezes Jared’s. “Okay.”

Then he leans forward. Kisses Jared softly on the mouth and says goodnight.

**

Jensen half-wakes to pitch blackness with Jared’s hand cupping low on his hip and a jittery feeling under his skin. He squirms, punching at his pillow, inhales, then rolls slowly onto his back until Jared’s hand is on him, cupped over his pajamas. Jared makes a sleep-smothered sound. His fingers tense and Jensen can’t help gasping. Jared’s hand moves, a sluggish climb up over his belly and a slip back down, this time underneath the waistline of his pants. Jensen groans at the feeling and rolls into it, pushing against Jared’s hand as it moves over him, fumbling his own hand inside Jared’s pajamas, and finally sighing when he touches him. Jared hooks a leg over Jensen’s, tugging him in, and mouths sleepily at his throat, palming, pulling, stroking until Jensen’s arching with it, trying to hold up his end of the deal and not sure if it’s working, and then Jared gives a jerk, his whole body ripples, and he comes across Jensen’s fingers. Jensen hears his own gasps, tiny and shallow, matching the speed of Jared’s strokes, and comes when Jared’s grip tightens, rolls around, oh god, that’s— fucking good. Jensen reaches for Jared and snugs them close, twisting their legs together, searching for sleep and finding it again with his face buried in the curve of Jared’s throat.

**

Apparently Jensen can’t go a night in Jared’s bed without grabbing him and having at it, so that’s new.

The down side? Waking up in a panic when Jared’s unfamiliar alarm sounds, realizing he’s got a mess to take care of, matching Jared’s awkward blush when Jared notices his similar situation, and not being able to talk it over because Clif’s coming to get them in half an hour.

The upside? Jensen’s feeling pretty damn sated. And a little bit smug. And extremely energetic. Fuck the awkwardness; he came twice yesterday (well, maybe once yesterday and once really early this morning), both times with Jared, and that’s _awesome_. He’s not giving ‘awkward’ the time of day.

He spends the car ride drinking Starbucks and thinking of all the people he’d like to thank for making those fantastic orgasms possible: Chris for talking sense into him; Misha for making fun of his botched line way back when; his mom for being understanding; Misha for getting it wrong and still being right; Jared for actually, you know, jacking him off; Misha for offering gay sex in a really inappropriate way; Misha for—

Fuck. This is entirely Misha’s doing.

Yes, Jensen is aware that his train of thought is bordering on disturbing and just all-around whacked, and that the person he’s most thankful for is definitely Jared because, hello, in love. Twitterpated. Butterflies and birdies and a pissed off owl. He’s fucking head over heels for the person he’s having sex with and that is _the_ perfect arrangement. But without Misha, Jensen would never have started thinking about Jared differently. Without Misha, Jensen would never have pursued the idea of more than just friends. Without Misha, none of this would have happened.

Well, not for a while longer at least.

He has to express his thanks somehow, but he can’t think of the right words to describe Misha’s role in all this. He’s a giver, he’s a fucking good friend, he’s an observant bastard— yep, still highly observant, seeing as he takes one look at Jared and Jensen over the top of his coffee cup and smirks like he’s just edited their very secret sex tape— but none of it’s right, none of it fits the gift Misha’s roundabout psychosis has given him.

“I don’t know how to thank you, man.” It feels kind of dumb to thank Misha for sex Misha didn’t even supply, but hey. Jensen’s extremely grateful.

Misha stirs his coffee with a sugar cube. It doesn’t work. “Good, me neither. What are we talking about?”

“Jared.”

“Ah.”

“And me.”

“Ah.”

“You don’t know how great you are, seriously.”

“How about a pony? With wings.”

Jensen blinks. “Wings.” And right then, the epiphany hits him like a rabid rhinoceros driving a steam shovel into his face.

“Misha,” Jensen croaks, pointing at Misha’s chest until his finger is bouncing up and down. “ _Mi_ sha.”

Misha eyes him balefully. “No.”

Everything is so very clear now. _“Misha.”_

“Stop. Right there, Ackles, I’m warning you.” Misha’s eyes are really wide. Really.

“But Misha, you… _you_ …”

“If you actually say it, _I will eat the hearts of your unborn children_.”

Jensen grins. “Are my guardian angel.”

“Kill me now,” Misha grunts as Jensen yanks him into the most suffocating hug he can manage.

**

When they get home, there’s no one else there. Ergo, it’s quiet. Ergo ergo, Jensen’s nerves pop in for another unwelcome visit.

Jared feeds the dogs and lets them out. They fix themselves dinner without talking much and eat it next to each other on the couch, watching Joey and Ross deny their love for napping together. It’s a good thing Jensen has seen this episode a zillion times because he really isn’t paying much attention.

It’s still new. He’s still not used to it and has to keep reminding himself that this is all different from the norm. Well, not totally different, but enough to draw the attention.

Fuck. Shouldn’t they be going through a honeymoon period? Jensen’s a little miffed. Why can’t they just have a nice, regular relationship full of touchy-feely groping and disgusting displays of affection at all times?

Jared yawns when the credits start, stretching his arm up and out. Jensen leans forward, sliding his half-emptied plate onto the coffee table. When he straightens, he realizes that Jared is watching him. A hand touches down at his lower back, the gentle stroke of fingers.

“Think we should hit the sack,” Jared says. Almost carefree, the way he says it, but Jensen can hear the tension underneath. He’s pretty bushed, and Jared looks about twenty minutes from falling asleep.

Suddenly, Jared’s face screws up. He groans and lets his head fall back against the couch. “Oh, for fuck’s… Need to change my sheets first.”

Jensen feels himself flush at the memory of that morning. He watches Jared rub his face, then exert himself to sit forward, get moving, get it done. Jensen clears his throat. “Or we could just sleep in mine.”

Jared only trips up for a second, blinking one too many times at Jensen’s offer. He grins and pushes off the couch. “Good idea.”

He reaches down and pulls Jensen up, then lets go of his hand and heads for the back door to let the dogs in for the night. Jensen takes the plates into the kitchen, then waits by the sink until Jared ushers Harley and Sadie through to the living room. He can feel Jared just behind him, heading down the hall to his room.

Once there, however, Jared backtracks and heads upstairs to brush his teeth and get his pajamas, and Jensen ends up sitting in bed first again, trying to decide whether his t-shirt should remain on or come off and why the fuck does this matter so damn much all of a sudden? It’s Jared. Jared’s seen him clothed and half-clothed and probably even buck-naked, but a lot of that was on set and that’s about as far away as the moon right now.

When Jared returns, he’s in a tank top and pajama pants, so. He pauses just inside the door and shuts it behind him, then meets Jensen’s eyes, like Jensen’s going to change his mind and uninvite him or something. Funnily enough, the thought that’s currently romping through Jensen’s head is that he’d like to get Jared out of that shirt. He shifts, trying to find his equilibrium again, and pulls the blankets back on the closer side of the bed.

Jared gets in.

They lie there facing each other for a minute, and Jensen tries not to swallow, even though the urge is strong. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to feel about this, but his heart is hammering and, fuck, he’s already come with Jared twice, this shouldn’t be a big deal. But they’re not half asleep or standing in the kitchen in broad daylight this time. This is on a different level.

It feels fast, and yet it doesn’t. They’ve known each other for years, they’ve already made it past most of the trouble spots that other couples get into. The look on Jared’s face can only be described as uncertain, and Jensen reaches across the space automatically, smoothing a hand down Jared’s arm. “Hey.”

Jared’s eyes dart down and back up again. “You know, I— This is alright? I mean, really.”

“I should be asking you that.”

Jared shakes his head. “No, it’s not even about that. I’m just…”

“It’s new,” Jensen murmurs.

Jared’s hand finds his under the blanket and clasps it. “Yeah. And no.”

Jensen scoots forward, hoping he’s reading Jared right, and kisses him softly on the mouth. Jared sighs like he’s been holding his breath and kisses back. And fuck if Jensen’s not already used to this. It doesn’t feel like an invasion of Jared’s space at all anymore. The nervousness is still there, obviously, but kissing Jared has also begun to feel like a natural behavior.

Jared tucks a hand around the back of Jensen’s head and rises up a little, maneuvering into a looser kiss that’s made of tongues and quick breaths and exploration. Jensen relaxes and lets him explore. It feels good. Not lazy— there’s a determination behind Jared’s kiss, like he’s got a goal in mind. Jensen slips his arms around Jared’s body, hauling him in closer and tangling their legs together.

He doesn’t realize until after it’s done that he’s on his back, Jared up on his elbow, leaning over him and tonguing him deeply. Damn, that’s hot. Jensen hitches a knee up and Jared’s leg slips between his. Their feet slide over each other. He can feel Jared’s toes curl against the arch of his foot.

One thing’s for sure: he loves the feel of Jared’s weight pressing down on him. Body heat and the push and give of his chest as he breathes— it’s fantastic and incredibly intimate. Jared’s hand drifts down and cups his waist. He dips into Jensen’s mouth again, fingers clenching a little.

And pulls back.

Jensen sees him swallow. Jared stares down at him for several endless seconds, and pushes himself completely off. Jensen struggles up onto his elbows, still overwhelmed from the kissing, forming the words to ask. He falters when Jared pulls his own tank top over his head.

His hand returns to Jensen’s waist. This time, Jensen can feel the heat bleeding directly from Jared’s palm into his skin.

“Jen?”

Jensen can see Jared’s anxiety but all he hears is the question underneath the sound of his name. He nods and Jared reaches down. Pulls his t-shirt up and off. Jensen drops his arms as soon as it’s gone, back to Jared’s shoulders. He traces down Jared’s chest with his fingertips.

He knows where he wants this to go. Another first in a long line of firsts. He can feel the thud of his pulse, see the opposing beat of Jared’s in the hollow of his throat. He can’t quite get himself to look Jared in the eye as he thumbs the waist of his own pants down.

Jared jerks and sits up, watching for a second before he goes for his own pants. And seeing Jared naked is… god, it’s something else. Jensen isn’t sure he was ready for this either, but it’s too late now, and Jared can see him as well. Jensen chews his lip, takes in Jared’s body, all that skin, his muscles, the dip at his hips. Everything.

“Come here,” he whispers, finally looking up. Jared’s lower lip is worried pink. The expression on his face makes Jensen feel like he needs more air than he could ever possibly get, but the feeling when Jared drops his weight back down is a shock. Jensen cups Jared’s face in both hands, steadying himself as best he can. His own chest is heaving; too much, too big, and then Jared’s hand comes down right over Jensen’s heart and he kisses him again.

“God,” Jensen breathes. Jared makes an indescribable sound and touches his lips to Jensen’s nose. Jensen kisses his chin, nudges up and kisses his throat. Jared bends, catches his mouth once more, shifting on top of him. Jensen grabs him tight, rolling his hips up, instinctive, and opens his eyes. Jared’s looking right back, dazed but still _there_. Right there with him, every kiss, every move.

Jensen’s hard within seconds and he feels it when Jared follows. Fuck. There are no clothes this time; Jensen’s going to come, going to make Jared come, skin on skin. It feels fucking _good_. He manages Jared’s name, struggling to find a rhythm, struggling to get Jared closer, as close as he can without actually being inside him. It’s a bigger feeling than he ever expected. His heart feels swollen, feverish and full, fingers splayed over Jared’s ribs. He tries to touch as much of him as he can, searches out Jared’s mouth and the heat in his eyes again. Finds both. Jared tucks them together and rolls his hips down again. Again.

Jensen loses track somewhere in between, his back tightening in a heady rush, heat coiling, pulsing lower, slamming each nerve as it finally hits. He arches up, gasping against Jared’s lips, and feels it beyond the rush when Jared stiffens, jerks. Shudders. Jensen’s body reacts again and he bites his lip as he rides it out, almost pain, clutching Jared to him, each puff of breath on his chin like a thump of his heart.

“ _Oh_ , god. Jared.” He doesn’t know if he said it aloud or not. Jared’s mouth tastes loose and salty from their sweat. Jensen kisses him until his chest starts hurting from the lack of air. Then Jared presses his mouth to Jensen’s throat and breathes, heavy exhalations skimming over Jensen’s skin.

When their breathing has slowed, Jared lifts up on one elbow again and runs a hand through Jensen’s hair, sweeping it back from his forehead. He smiles gently. “Hey.”

Jensen doesn’t have anything to say. He reaches up, touches Jared’s mouth, and smiles back.

~fin~

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel: Misha Collins is an Extremely Thoughtful and Generous Person (available on my fics page.)
> 
> Now available: the podfic of The Flub (found here: http://koishii.net/temple/2011/99 ), read by blackbyrdy, graphics by anathema64, compiled by eosrose. Thank you so much for all your hard work, guys! (There are slight differences in the written version of ch. 4 due to minor grammatical errors I have corrected.)


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